


You're My Best Friend

by elphabachan



Series: The Ghost In You Universe [4]
Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:38:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elphabachan/pseuds/elphabachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened in Santa Fe between Nick and Francis, stays between Nick and Francis. Stand alone prequel to THE GHOST IN YOU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Danger! High Voltage!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, Valve does.
> 
> This is part of the GHOST IN YOU universe, set before GIY.

“HEY! NICK!” Pound pound pound. “NIIIICK, are ya ready yet?!” Pound pound pound.

Throughout most of Nick’s life, he’d never had a very close guy friend he could hang out with. During his childhood and adolescence he’d gravitated more towards playing with and hanging out with girls, and in adulthood he’d become fairly independent and didn’t really have ‘friends’. Friends would just make things complicated, and he’d figured that he could go through life without having any ‘pals’ or ‘buddies’.

And then Francis had shown up and grudgingly changed the former con-man’s mind. Even if he was banging his door down at the moment.

“Jesus CHRIST!” Nick snapped, opening the door to his apartment to see Francis on the other side. “You’d think that you’d never gone bar hopping before!”

“Look Suit, we’ve been working ten, sometimes eleven hour days basically every day the past two weeks,” Francis said, stepping into the studio and clapping the shorter man on the shoulder. “When I’m not working, I’m sleeping. I don’t even remember what a night out feels like.” His eyes fell on a pair of ladies underwear on the lamp by the bed. “Of course, clearly YOU remember.” Nick looked over, and smirked as he grabbed the panties and tossed them towards the closet.

“She left wearing mine,” he grinned.

“HOW did you have any energy to do that after the two weeks we’ve had?” Francis asked, always impressed by Nick’s prowess and seemingly insatiable libido.

“It’s a gift,” Nick shrugged.

“Well I want some’ve that tonight, so hurry up so we can get goin’!” Francis said, plopping down on Nick’s bed and leaning against the head board.

“GET YOUR BOOTS OFF MY BED,” Nick snarled, and Francis snorted before un-strapping them and taking them off. “Oh yes, your stinky dirty socks are exactly what I want on my bed.”

“Better than my boots,” Francis shrugged. “Why aren’t you ready? We haven’t gone out like this in weeks!”

“YOU haven’t gone out like this in weeks, do I really need to remind you about the panties?” Nick asked as he futzed with his hair. “I’ll be ready soon, I just want to look good.”

“Girl.”

“This ‘girl’ gets a lot more ass than you do.”

“That’s gonna change after tonight, and hey, IIIII don’t have the benefit of being a pretty boy who bats for both teams,” Francis sneered. “Just by the law of averages you GOTTA get more than me most of the time. But not tonight.”

“I don’t think the law of averages means what you think it means,” Nick said, turning around after he was fully satisfied with his appearance. “But what, are we caring to have a little wager about what happens tonight? Who can get the most phone numbers?”

“Sure!” Francis said.

“Oh boy! Apparently we’re middle school girls at the food court again!” Nick said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“What’s this ‘again’ business?” Francis chuckled.

“Are you ready to go?” Nick asked, laughing a little as well.

“I was born ready,” Francis said, leaping off the bed and pulling his boots back on. “So what do ya say? Person who gets the most phone numbers tonight wins?”

“Person who gets the most ass tonight wins,” Nick amended.

“That DOESN’T sound like a middle school girl at the food court.”

“No, but it was fifteen year old me at the food court.”

“Why am I not surprised? Well you better spot me some condoms,” Francis said, following Nick out the door.

“You got it,” Nick said.

Their favorite bar was near the edge of town, by the fence that separated Santa Fe from the Grey Zone. It was admittedly a smaller perimeter than the city used to have, but most of the historic parts of town were still there. This bar, however, wasn’t revered for historical context or memory. It was known for good tamales and cheap tequila. They started out sitting at the bar together, like they always did. Nick took back a shot of Patron, starting with something nice before switching to the shitty stuff, and smiled at his partner. “You aren’t ordering those disgusting tamales, are you?”

“First of all, they’re not disgusting, they’re awesome,” Francis stated. “You just don’t like them because they give you the farts.”

Nick glared at him. “Gross, that’s not-.”

“And SECOND of all, yes, I did,” the ex biker said, proudly. “I’m going to eat the SHIT out of these things.”

“And they’re going to take the shit out of you, which gives ME a distinct advantage tonight,” Nick said, eyes starting to scan the bar for potential lovers. Or at the very least, potential phone numbers.

“No they won’t,” Francis denied, and drank his own shot of tequila. He’d started with rail and intended to stay there.

“That could be a bet all on it’s own,” Nick said as his gaze fell on a dark haired woman sitting by the door of the dive. He tilted his head to the side, and kept his eyes on her until she looked over at him. Once her big grey eyes landed on his, he smiled, and raised his glass her way. He did love a smooth seduction.

Francis clapped a little when his tamales were set in front of him. “Oh yeah, PINTO BEANS,” he said, but then noticed that Nick was eying some girl. “Oh no fair, we can’t start yet, I haven’t eaten.”

“Sorry big guy,” Nick said, patting him on his broad shoulders. “Game on.” And with that, he stood up and walked across the bar to chat up the pretty brunette.

Francis scowled, and shoveled his food in his mouth swiftly. “Game on indeed, asshat,” he mumbled, maw filled with food.

If there was one thing that Nick had to admit, it was that Francis was a surprisingly able foe when it came to their sexual conquests. What he may not have had in looks, at least not in an obvious sense like the former con man did, Francis made up for in charm and charisma. While he wasn’t as charming as Nick could be, he was burly, and fit, and could somehow talk the pants off many girls they met. Suffice to say, he was competition. So while Nick started strong by getting girl number 1’s phone number, once the tamales were gone, all bets were off.

If the two Z-Men had weaknesses when it came to alcohol, tequila was at the tip tops of their lists. Nick had never really known what it was about that drink, but it led to a lot of poor life choices, including his marriage to Holly. Francis never saw his tequila influenced decisions as bad ones, though Francis never really had ANY regrets about ANY decisions he made. So he had no problem ordering more and more shots of it as the night went on. Nick was more skeptical, but by the time he was on his fourth shot and banging a girl in the bathroom, he’d completely forgotten about the bad reaction his body had to the drink. He slammed the girl into the stall door, her whimpers and (more than likely fake) cries of pleasure egging him on.

Though what egged him on more was the fact that Francis was in the very next stall, doing the exact same thing, and being much louder about it. Because that meant that they were basically tied in their competition. HOW did that oafish gorilla of a man seduce women as easily has HE did?

“Hey! Keep it down!” Nick snapped, using the hand that wasn’t holding the girl up to pound on the metal wall next to him.

“Maaaake meeeee,” Francis lilted, and Nick snorted as he kept jerking up into the woman.

It occurred to them that they’d have to start hopping from place to place if they weren’t going to get slapped by their pursuits (as some people found it in bad taste for grown men to bang women consecutively in the name of competition), so as they tramped through the streets of Santa Fe, hitting up bar after bar, the number of conquests remained neck and neck,  as the number of condoms dwindled. By the time it was two am, both men were pretty tipsy and tied at three lays each.

“Alright, the night’s dying,” Nick stated, trying his best to sound official. He’d cut himself off for the evening, though it felt a bit too little, too late. “This is for ALL the marbles. Whoever gets the most here, wins.”

“Duh,” Francis spat, head dizzy, but at least aware of his surroundings and coherent. “You aren’t winning this time, Suit. I got this in the bag. Because THAT girl, RIGHT over there, is the one I want.” He pointed at a woman with short dark hair, big brown eyes, and a petite frame. “HER.”

“…. Asshole, she was the one I was eying,” Nick stated, giving him a glare.

“Well too bad, I called dibs on her,” Francis replied, putting a hand to Nick’s face and pushing him back a bit, which made Nick squawk out in protest. “Mine. Called it.”

Nick smacked Francis’ hand away. “Well she’s looking at ME,” he said, and nodded at the woman, who winked back at him. “SEE? ME. She’s winking at me, you greasy sasquatch.”

“Shut up,” Francis snarled, biting retorts escaping him, and looked over at her. “She isn’t looking at you!” He pointed at himself, raising his eyebrows at her, to which she giggled and nodded at him. “SEE? That was SO at me!”

“Was not!” Nick protested, smacking Francis in the shoulder. “Look, you prefer blondes, don’t you? Why don’t you go find some blonde?”

“YOU prefer MEN, don’t you? Why don’t YOU go find some GUY?” Francis volleyed back.

Before the two of them could start all out yelling at each other (and no doubt get kicked out of the bar for being drunk and disorderly), the woman in question walked up to both of them. She was small, and had a very sweet look about her, though judging by the smile on her face she had a few tricks up her sleeves.

“You two aren’t fighting over me, are you?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at the two of them as she shifted her weight to one side of her body.

“We don’t fight over people, because it’s not really a fight if there’s no competition in the first place,” Nick said, and Francis made a face at him.

“Oh ho ho ho,” he said, sneering down at his friend before looking back at the object of both their affections. Or at the very least lust. “Look, I saw you looking at me first, princess, so you can just tell him to mosey on his way.”

“I’m sorry, she was looking at ME first,” Nick corrected.

“Wow, two kind of cute guys fighting over me,” the woman said, chuckling. “I’m flattered, I think. Though for a couple of grown men you’re acting like a couple of teenage boys.”

“’Kind of cute’? Hm, you must be averaging us out because of HIS ugly mug,” Nick said, and Francis slugged him in the kidney. “OW-!”

“Look, I’m going to cut through all the bullshit here,” she said, interrupting their immature bickering. “My name is Alice, I was looking at both of you, and I was thinking that maybe I could buy you guys a couple of drinks. Just to start.”

“Well hey, I’m sure you’re used to bar etiquette, but the GUY usually buys the GIRL the drinks,” Francis said, a bit gruffly.

Alice smiled at him, a very sly look spreading across her features. “I’ve never been one to follow etiquette,” she quipped, poking him in the chest. “So what are you drinking, boys?”

Nick grinned at that as he straightened back up. “…… Tequila,” he stated.

“Same for me,” Francis replied.

Alice smiled right back at them, and gently pushed their bodies away so she could walk through them. “I like the way you think,” she called over her shoulders.

Francis gently hit Nick in the chest, excitedly. “I like the way she thinks too,” he growled, lecherously.

One round turned to two, and two turned to three, and it was clear that Nick’s self imposed temperance for the rest of the night was out the window. Before they knew it, the three of them were walking through the streets of Santa Fe, palling around, singing songs at the top of their lungs. Francis suggested they all go back to her place for a night cap, but she told them she didn’t just let anyone back to her place due to a bad experience in the past. So when Francis offered up HIS place, that was just fine.

The three of them walked into the cramped apartment, and Francis hit the light. “Welcome to my humble adobe!” he said, messing up the pronunciation in his drunken state.

“You’re wasted,” Nick muttered.

“We’re ALL wasted!” Francis corrected, though Alice wasn’t nearly as gone as Nick and Francis were. “I got a good feeling about tonight.” He was fairly certain that soon he’d be kicking Nick out, and would then not only get to have a romp with this attractive young woman, but win the bet as well.

“So do I,” Nick replied, eying Alice with a wolfish leer. He too thought that he had it in the bag.

Alice had another idea.

When the biker put Def Leppard on the music player, Nick began to bitch and grouse, which led to Francis bitching and grousing right back. They both shut up when Alice brought back more beers from the fridge, though she herself didn’t have one. She just put them in front of the guys, who gladly indulged. Indulged so much, that when she suggested that they ALL retire to Francis’ bed, the two of them nodded.

See, Alice had participated in a threesome before. But that had involved a man and a woman. Never had it involved her and two men. So when she saw two men who seemed to be fairly close to each other, and trusting of each other, she figured that would be the best bet, assuming she greased the wheels with a little alcohol. In her mind they could each take their turn with her, and call it a night.

They watched her in the dimly lit room as she climbed up the mattress, keeping her eyes on both of them as she did, and both stripped down, each believing her attention on him. Her silhouette was visible in the light from the hallway, but it was going to be interesting to fumble for her in the darkness.

Nick leaned in first to kiss her, putting his hands on her hips and letting them slip up under her silky blouse. She kissed him back, but moved her hand out to grab at Francis too, wanting to be sure that the larger of the two men got in on the fun. Francis chuckled lowly, and moved in to her neck, deliberately hip checking Nick in the side, knocking the gambler to the side. Nick bounced onto the bed, and grunted, surprised that he’d been foiled mid-kiss. His eyes narrowed, and he pressed his palm against Francis, trying to shove him away (even if his partner was larger and stronger than he was). Francis pulled his mouth away from Alice’s, and snagged Nick’s wrist in his hand.

“Knock it off,” he stated, glaring at his partner. Which made Nick glare back, putting Alice in the middle of the two posturing and competitive men.

“Make me knock it off, Solomon Grundy,” Nick simpered, feeling a bit overconfident in his drunken state.

“Guys,” Alice started, but before she could get a word in edgewise, Francis snarled and tackled Nick to the bed. “Jesus guys, could you be any more Cro-Magnon?” She pulled on Francis’ boxer waistband, and the biker turned around. “Just…. just both of you lay back, relax, and let me work my magic, okay?”

“…. Done this before, hm?” Nick asked, shoving Francis off of him, who flopped on his back right next to the smaller man, wincing a little bit.

“You could say that,” she said, pulling down their boxer shorts around their ankles. “But not with two men.”

Both men did as they were told, letting Alice take the reins in the triangle. As she fondled and suckled at the men, switching off between the two of them, Nick ran his hand up his chest, turning his head to the side and starting to pant. Francis swallowed down, curving his own head to the side, feeling Nick’s breath on his face, hearing his partner murmur and keen ever so slightly.

It wasn’t clear who started it. One of them did, though neither would remember. But as Alice moved her hands and lips between the two of them, she looked up, hoping to gauge who was ready for her first.

And instead she was surprised to see to see that their attentions weren’t really on her anymore. In the darkness she could tell that the two men had moved close together, and were kissing each other a top the bed, hands exploring down their chests and around their hips. She pulled away, a little surprised by the sight. She hadn’t really pegged these two for that kind of thing, having fully expected them to take their turns with her. But here they were, Nick crawling on top of Francis and chewing at his lips, his jaw, while his hand dropped to the larger man’s dick and started to grope at it.

“…. Guys?” she asked, wondering if she was even needed here.

Francis mumbled a few drunken words, and then laughed a little when Nick’s lips dropped down across his tattooed chest. “Alice, that tickles,” he slurred, and she put a hand to her head, smirking. Nick’s mouth quickly found Francis’ cock, and wrapped around it expertly, which made the biker gasp sharply. His head started to bob up and down, going fast and hard right out of the gate. Francis moaned, his fingers tangling in the sheets as his back arched off the bed.

“Mmm, oh God Overalls,” Nick muttered through sucks, though Alice didn’t quite understand what that meant. Francis didn’t seem like the overalls wearing type. But she stopped asking questions when Nick suddenly pulled away and began to rub his crotch against Francis’, moaning a bit.

She stood up, running a hand down her face bemusedly, and just decided that maybe she’d watch. What was the harm in that? This was certainly something she didn’t see every day. Watching two men drunkenly fumble with, suck on, and rub against each other wasn’t the way that she’d planned to spend her Saturday night, but really, it was a damn good way to pass the time as it turned out.

By the time she’d slipped out around 4am, Alice had seen a show that she didn’t think she’d ever see in her life, but had thoroughly enjoyed. Let the two men wake up naked next to each other. THAT would no doubt get quite the reaction from both of them. 


	2. Goodbye Horses

Francis’ was awakened by a throbbing in his head. It seemed to start behind his left eyebrow, but spread it’s painful tendrils out across the rest of his forehead. His mouth felt like he’d been sucking on gauze all night, and while his stomach didn’t hurt, he had a feeling that it was going to. Very shortly. He kept his eyes closed as he slowly sat up, body feeling like it had been run through an industrial dryer.

“Ffffffuuuuuck,” he muttered, putting his hands to his eyes and rubbing them. He didn’t remember much from the night before. There were bits and pieces. He remembered being at a few bars. Remembered getting some ass from some girls at said bars. He didn’t really remember getting home… But he remembered having sex in his home. At least he thought so, it was really fuzzy in his memory bank. He looked down, noticing his was naked and a bit sticky, while there was a lump in his bed under a mountain of covers. Yeah, definitely had sex, he thought, and smirked to himself. He sort of remembered the girl. She was pretty, and a tease, he recalled that much, and it was enough to make him nod in satisfaction. He was FAIRLY sure he remembered her sucking his dick too, which just made him grin all the more lecherously. That was quite the night. He flopped over in the bed, lying on his back while closing his eyes, and let out a long, satisfied sigh.

It was when he heard a familiar “Fucking fuck, what time is it?” right next to him that his snapped back open. He shot up, yanking the covers away, and saw that the covered lump in the bed was not ALICE, like he had THOUGHT…

It was Nick.

“Where the fuck-?” Nick began, eyes still closed, but before he could continue Francis started to yell. “WHA-?”

“AUGH!” Francis shouted, blood draining from his cheeks as he jumped out of the bed. Never before had he been more horrified to see Nick. And never had he been more horrified to see a naked man.

“Francis-?!”

"OHMYGOOOOOOD!” Francis exclaimed, and, realizing he was still naked, grabbed the quilt from the bed and covered himself demurely. Nick opened his eyes, and saw his partner standing above him, looking absolutely panic stricken.

“…. Why are you in my room?” he asked, still a bit dazed.

“THIS IS MY ROOM! THIS IS MY APARTMENT!” Francis shouted, free arm flailing about. “WHY ARE YOU IN MY BED, WHY ARE WE NAKED, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?”

Nick sat up, suddenly just as freaked as Francis, and looked down at himself. His friend was right; this was not his place, and they were both naked. He put a hand to his head. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, pulling the sheets around his own nudity. “What the fuck, Francis?!”

“You got me! I don’t remember anything! I, I thought I remembered that girl sucking me off but… Oh GOD was that YOU?!” Francis gasped, face flushing in horror. “TELL ME that wasn’t you!!! Tell me she just had her way with us and that we’re not-! That we didn’t-!.... NICK! TELL ME THAT WAS HER!”

Nick wracked his brain as best he could. A lot of the night before was a blur, only a few things standing out after they met Alice. Such things included shots at he bar, singing Prince songs as they walked through the streets, beers and Francis’, and DEFINITELY sucking someone’s cock. And rubbing cocks until they both came. Why he’d been doing that with Francis, he didn’t know. Perhaps, like his partner, in his drunken state he thought that it was someone else. And he didn’t care to hypothesize who, for he had a feeling he knew.

He looked up at Francis, actually embarrassed. “…. Okay, so… Yeah. That was me who blew you,” he said, delicately.

Francis looked like he was going to be sick, which really wasn’t that farfetched, since his hangover was so raging and his stomach had been roiling even before the huge shock of whom his bed partner was. There was a very uneasy silence between the two of them, and before Nick could say anything else, Francis’ hangover won. “I’m going to puke,” he announced, and ran out of the room.

As he listened to his partner vomit, Nick closed his eyes, feeling like maybe In the future he needed to lay off the tequila. Look what it had done to him! He’d never in a million years thought he’d end up in bed with Francis, and yet after one night on the town and sucking down that shit, there he was. Yeah, if he was in need of a wake up call about how much tequila affected him, this was it.

Francis stumbled back into the room (now wearing a ratty robe to hide his shame), looking just as panicked and now a bit green around the gills as well. He leaned against the doorframe, and swallowed down the acerbic aftertaste that was clinging to his mouth.

“…. Did we have sex?” he asked, voice stony. Nick looked up, and rubbed his eyes, tired and a bit… horrified wasn’t the right word. He’d done worse things in his life of promiscuity. But he was definitely thrown.

“… That depends on your definition of sex,” he replied, voice tired and lacking any ironic slyness.

“Don’t give me any of that post-LewinskyGate bullshit!” Francis snarled. “Did we have sex?!”

“I don’t remember!” Nick snarled right back, green eyes glaring up at the hulking Z-Man. “I remember blowing you! I remember us rubbing our dicks together and you pumping both of them!”

“Motherfucker-!”

“But I don’t remember if we had anal sex, if that’s what you mean!” Nick bit, grabbing for his boxers from the floor.

“Well I need to know!” Francis barked.

“Jesus Christ, you aren’t going to grow a vagina or lose your card to the heterosexual man club if we did,” Nick huffed, and carded a hand through his messy hair. “But fine, since you’re dying to know, tell me this: How does your ass feel?”

“Huh?!” Francis asked, crossing his arms and scowling at him. “What does that-?!”

“Does it hurt? Is it sore? Are you BLEEDING?” Nick snarled, and Francis put his hands to his ears.

“Just answer me!” the former gambler shouted. “HOW. DOES. YOUR. ASS. FEEL?”

“IT FEELS FINE!” Francis yelled back, trying not to turn beet red at the question. “None of those things, GROSS!”

“Well mine feels fine too!” Nick nodded, grabbing his clothes off the floor, bending down over and over to gather the strewn apparel. “If I’d fucked your ass, you’d be sore since you’d never done it before. If you’d fucked MY ass, I’D be sore because I don’t bottom. Congratulations. We didn’t score a home run! We pretty much stalled between third and home!”

“Well that’s good!” Francis sneered. “Because yeah, there’s NO way that I would do that! How could you let this happen?!” He pointed at his partner, finger shaking at him in a chiding manner.

“Excuse me?!” Nick asked, eyes narrowing.

“You know that I’m not into guys!” the larger man spat as Nick pulled his pants on. “And yet you let that happen anyway!”

“I was just as drunk as you, Francis, you can’t blame me for this!” the former con man bit, buttoning his pants and putting his hands on his hips. “I mean, seriously?! I’M the one taking full responsibility for this freak show?!”

“Well you’re the one who sleeps with anything that moves, you should keep yourself in line better!” Francis said, angrily throwing himself on the bed in a huff.

“Oh please,” Nick said, shaking his head as he pulled his shirt on, buttoning unevenly in his haste.

“This is just gross!” Francis snipped, still completely disgusted. “I’m not like this! I’m not some sissy fa-!”

He cut himself short, but not before Nick looked at him with burning green eyes. The larger agent closed his mouth, and then looked at the wall, hoping that nothing would be said. But he could feel his friend’s gaze on him, eating through him. “… I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, voice quieter.

“I’m not entirely sure there’s any other way to mean it, unless you think I look like a bundle of sticks,” Nick said, eyebrows drawing together as he yanked his socks onto his feet.

“I didn’t MEAN it like that,” Francis repeated, a bit more shamefacedly.

“….I’m sure not,“ Nick muttered, making a production of shaking out his coat. “Fine, whatever. This was fucked up and weird, so let’s not speak of it again. As far as I’m concerned last night never happened.”

“Yeah, fine by me,” Francis agreed, nodding curtly.

“I’m going home,” Nick continued, walking for the door of the bedroom. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” Without saying anything else, Nick passed Francis, and left the bedroom, the door to the apartment slamming shortly thereafter.

Once he was officially alone, Francis lay back on the bed, and put his hands to his face. He felt a need to go out, find a girl, and make her come about ten times. Just to prove that he still could, but as he rolled over he felt his stomach hiccup again. That wasn’t something that he should be doing today. Instead, he shuffled to the kitchen, and tried to find something palatable. Or at the very least, something he could choke down and keep down. He plodded over to the fridge, and was going to open it, when he saw a hand written note taped to the avocado door. He pulled it off, and read it.

_Hey Guys,_

_Thanks for the show. Sorry I slipped out under cloak of darkness, but I figured the bed wasn’t big enough for the three of us. If you want to party again, feel free to come find me. You know where. – ALICE_

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered, crumpling up the note.  “Goddamn succubus.” He tossed it across the room, and sat at the table, glaring at the parquet top.

It didn’t take long for Nick to get back to his place, since he lived down the hall. He understood the reasoning for FBICE to put partnered agents in the same building, since they would need to get to each other in a moment’s notice sometimes. But whenever he and Francis fought, it felt like even an ocean apart wouldn’t be far enough. He threw his door open, and then slammed it, figuring that today was a complete and utter wash. He stamped over to the couch, feeling hung over and crabby, and fell down on it, face burying in a pillow. He knew he should go take a shower, wash away any trace of the night before, but he just couldn’t get himself to stand up.

This had never happened to him before. For one thing, Nick had never had a close guy friend. That was a given. He and guys didn’t really gel all that well, unless they were fucking. Francis was different, if only because they were so abrasive to each other it worked. It was a weird relationship, but it worked. But in the same vein, Francis was someone who, while tolerant of Nick’s lifestyle, would NEVER be comfortable with what had happened. Hell, he had a hard time eating foot long hot dogs if Nick made any lecherous comments. Which he always did, just to piss the former biker off.

But what had REALLY never happened was a sudden apprehension that was starting to fester, the apprehension that it would maybe change things. No, knowing that it would CERTAINLY change things. He had been perfectly comfortable in their friendship. Now it was possibly spinning out.

“Fuck,” he muttered, and draped an arm over his eyes. He was going to try and perhaps sleep, when the phone on the end table began to ring. “FUCK.” He reached for it blindly, and pulled the receiver to his ear. “Nick here, and this better be important because I’m hung over and pissed.”

“Wow, do you greet everyone that way?” Merle Morgan asked, and Nick sat up at he sound of his boss’ voice.

“Uh, hey sir,” he said, trying to reel in his blatant crabbiness.

“Yeah, hey,” Morgan snickered. “Crazy night last night?”

“You could say that.”

“You and Francis get in some trouble, I assume?”

“… You could say that too.”

“That’s my boys,” Morgan laughed, and Nick averted his eyes, uncomfortably. “I don’t really want to know, but I’ll just assume that you two were out painting the town red and breaking some hearts.”

“Something like that.”

“Well I didn’t call to pry into your personal life, I have some news that I wanted to tell you so it didn’t catch you unaware,” Morgan stated, voice suddenly a bit more serious. “So you two are going to be done in Santa Fe in two weeks.”

“I knew that much,” Nick said. “Then we move on to El Paso.”

“That’s right…. But CEDA is going to send out an agent the last week to make sure that you guys wrap things up to their satisfaction,” Morgan said, voice a little hesitant. Nick growled, headache starting to pound a bit more.

“Well that’s fun, the last time THAT happened it was a complete disaster and it led to an inquiry,” he scoffed. “Why are they trying this again?”

“Because it’s CEDA, they have a short memory span,” Morgan replied. “….. I also think you should know that the agent that’s coming in is going to be Mark Creevy.”

Nick rolled his eyes, and shifted his weight. “Well THAT’S fascinating,” he groused. “Christ, I haven’t seen that asshole since-.”

“Since you testified against him,” Morgan finished. “I’m fully aware. But McCarthy pretty much does what he wants to do. I have no say.”

“You should have some say, it’s going to be awkward as fuck,” Nick said, pulling his knees up to his chest to stretch his lower back. “CHRIST, Morgan, my day was already shot to shit, this just shot it further into the shit! Like, through the shit, then through the vomit BENEATH the shit and into the other, lower pit of shit!”

“Hey, it’s not like this is MY fault, James Dean!”

“You have to have SOME say!”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Morgan snapped. “It is CEDA’s call and they’re sending Creevy! Now stop with the temper tantrum! You always throw temper tantrums, it’s really obnoxious.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Nick muttered, and exhaled huffily. “Well, at least I can rub in his face that he didn’t get the Deputy Director job.”

“That’s very mature,” Morgan said, sarcasm lacing his tone. “So I take it that you’re going to tell Francis as soon as we hang up and I don’t have to call him?”

Nick chewed on his lip, and wrinkled his nose. “Ahhhh, no, you can call him,” he said, scratching his head and happy that Morgan didn’t see this body language. “We saw enough of each other last night, I think he’s sick of me.”

“I suppose I can give old Marlon Brando a call,” Morgan stated. “…. It’s just one day. Maybe two. You can handle it. It’s not like it’s going to kill you.”

Nick chuckled a little bit, and stretched out again. “No, I suppose not. Fine. Fuck my life, but fine.”

“That’s the spirit,” Morgan agreed. “… So was she pretty?”

“Huh?” Nick asked, rubbing his eye with his palm. “Was who pretty?”

“The girl who clearly made you just a little brain-dead this morning,” Morgan replied, always keen to live vicariously through his favorite agent.

Nick turned red, and pulled the blanket up over his face. “Uhhh-.”

“Or guy, was it a guy and was he, er, attractive?” Morgan asked, trying to show that he was supportive, even if this scenario was much less interesting to him.

“Morgan, I wouldn’t say… I mean, it’s not….” Nick stammered, not sure of how to answer any of this.

“Oh never mind, I’ll just ask Francis, he’ll tell me,” Morgan said, and laughed.

“Ah haaaahhhh,” Nick answered, discomfort taking over again. “I don’t know if he’ll say anything, we’re… Rocky ground…” He trailed off, lacking any ability to form complete thoughts and sentences.

“Rocky ground, huh?….. Bare knuckle boxed yet?” Morgan asked, and Nick laughed a little bit.

“Not yet… I don’t know if beating each other up is going to fix this,” he said, a little regretfully.

“We’re men, James Dean. A good rolling around solves everything.”

“Uh, yeah…. Okay, man, I’m going to, uh.. I have to go. Thanks for telling me about Creevy or whatever.”

“Just thought a head’s up would be appreciated. Play nice, recruit.” And with that, Morgan hung up. Nick put the phone back in the cradle, and put the pillow over his face. Great. Not even ten am and the day was officially a complete shit show.

“At least it can’t get any worse,” he said, and smiled grimly. If Nick had learned one thing, it was that it could ALWAYS get worse. And he had a feeling, deep in his gut, that it was going to.


	3. Don't Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)

Nick had imagined that the first day back on the job would be awkward. So he wasn’t terribly surprised or insulted when Francis had said barely three words to him while they went on patrols, outside of obligatory ‘behind you!’s and ‘Hunter!’s. At least Francis still had his back, even if he didn’t have anything else to say. Not that Nick had much to say either.

The second day and third day were very similar, and by the time the end of the week came around, and there was still a freeze between the two of them, Nick felt that maybe he did need to say something. Not because he was lonely. At least he wouldn’t admit that he was. He always preferred solitude, so it was rather irritating that now he was noticeably irked by it. He just wanted to clear the air. He had to trust Francis with his life, so maybe it would be good to have no hard feelings.

He didn’t try to hide his irritation as he arrived at the patrol site, which was south of Old Santa Fe. The buildings were more modern, and had been in a not so nice neighborhood. Of course people hadn’t worried about cleaning THIS part of town up until after the first wave. Heaven forbid the poorer part of the economically disparate community was attended to. Nick snorted, slamming the door to his junky car behind him. He saw Francis sitting on a cracked sidewalk, fiddling with his gun and humming to himself, sunglasses reflecting the abandoned surroundings. Nick walked through the fence, gun slung over his shoulder, and stood above his partner, brow furrowed. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Francis answered, still cleaning his gun and not looking up at him.

“….. See anything yet?” the former gambler asked.

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s early. They’ll come out later.”

“Yup.”

“…. You’ve been such a fun conversationalist lately,” Nick grumbled, and loaded up his gun. Francis didn’t say anything to that, instead he stood up and started patrolling, separately. Nick groused to himself, and started to patrol on his own side.

Francis kept on his side of the hypothetical line that had been drawn, and merely paced about, looking through his binoculars. It was surreal to him that it was 45 degrees in the middle of December (being used to colder temperatures at Christmas), but also a bit surprising that the desert got this chilly. Utah had been a bit too hot for him when they were in Sandy that previous July and August, so this was a nice change of pace for a desert. He looked over at Nick as his partner pulled a piece of candy from his coat, and then looked away when the other man looked back at him. It was hard to look at Nick. For a few reasons, the first and most obvious being the fact that they’d done…. THAT. He couldn’t think of it as anything other than THAT. Even if he didn’t remember it, it was still humiliating and disturbing to him.

He had gone out every night and found women to have sex with, still trying to prove his manliness. No matter how many girls he’d bring back to his one bedroom apartment, he still felt like he’d lost something in his drunkenness. And he was frustrated that Nick had let him do such a thing. Even though he knew Nick was just as drunk as he was, he still placed the blame on the other man.

He chewed on his thumbnail, lost in thought. So lost that he didn’t notice a shambling Infected that came out from behind one of the abandoned buildings. It wasn’t until the large female hissed and lunged at him that he realized the danger he was in. He jumped to the side, yelping a bit, and tried to get his gun in position, but she must have been hungry because she immediately pounced on him, not hesitating whatsoever. They both went crashing to the asphalt, and though he tried to aim, the gun was stuck between their two bodies.

“SHIT!” he yelled, squirming under her weight and trying to push her off of him, or at the very least push her mouth away before she could bite him. He growled, twisting and squirming. “Fucking FAT BITCH!”

His vocabulary was going to get a lot more colorful, but before it could Nick rushed up and kicked the woman in the head. She rolled off of Francis, grunting as she hit the street, and Nick shot her in the face with his gun, decisively. Her head exploded out, brains and bone spraying to the pavement and part of Nick’s pants. Francis stared up at the sky for a couple of beats, and then slowly sat up.

“Jesus,” he muttered, trying to catch his breath.

“You okay?” Nick asked, putting a hand on Francis’ arm to help him up, like they always did for each other after an especially bad encounter. But this time, instead of gripping Nick’s hand and joshing around, Francis jerked away as if the other’s touch burned him.

“I got it!” he snarled, glaring up at his partner. Nick paused for a moment, and then glared right back at him.

“Yeah, just like you had that whale I saved your ass from,” he snipped back.

“I was handling it,” the former biker grumbled, standing up and brushing himself off, examining the gore and filth she’d left behind.

“Sure, whatever,” Nick snorted, starting to walk back to his area.

“I don’t need your help, I’m not some goddamn pussy now!” Francis snarled after him. Nick stopped, and turned around, an incredulous and irate expression crossing his features.

“Now WHY would I think that?” he demanded, stalking back to the larger man. “Because you, heaven forbid, let me suck your cock the other night? Yeah, SUCH A PUSSY.”

“Would you shut up about that?!” Francis demanded, grabbing Nick by the collar of his suit, though the gambler wasn’t intimidated in the least. In fact, he merely laughed at his partner, which just pissed Francis off even more. “Shut up!”

“Of course then YOU grabbed my dick and rubbed them both together-,” Nick began, and Francis shoved him violently.

“I said shut up!” he commanded.

“And THEN I’m pretty sure that I wrapped my legs around your waist and we just kind of went to town, rubbing cock and then jizzing all OVER the place!” Nick continued, on a vicious streak that was surprising even to him. He was kind of making it up, really, he didn’t remember THAT. But it was sadistic fun to make Francis think he’d done that.

Well, fun until Francis pulled back and hit him across the face. Nick’s head whipped to the side, caught off guard that he’d been hit THAT hard. His hand went to his jaw, and he slowly moved his head back to look at his partner. He opened and closed his mouth a couple times, trying to ignore the pain in his face so he could smirk, tauntingly.

“Glad you caught my drift,” Nick said, head tilting to the side. “Game on?” He arched his back away from Francis, just a tad, as if to challenge his partner.

“Oh yeah,” Francis growled, wiggling his fingers at his friend.

“Good,” Nick spat, and then swung at Francis, catching him in the nose. Francis squawked as his hands flew to his face, and Nick took advantage and tackled him, knowing that if he had ANY chance of winning this scuffle he’d need to be ruthless. And willing to fight a little dirty.

Francis grunted as he hit the ground, and began hitting Nick in the ribs, which made the smaller man yelp as he swung and swatted. The former biker grabbed him by the ear and yanked him to the side.

“SON OF A BITCH!” Nick yelled, elbow hitting the street as Francis rolled him over. Good to see the other also wasn’t above fighting unfairly. The bigger man stood up, holding up his fists.

“Come on, pretty boy, keep it up!” Francis said, figuring out exactly what Nick was trying to do. When they fought like this, it would release all tension, and they would go back to normal. No matter how bad the disagreement or argument, fisticuffs would solve their differences. It never failed. “Let’s see what you got, you California wimp!”

Nick pushed himself off the ground, spitting some blood to the side, and held up his fists as well. “Gladly, you illiterate troll,” he threw back, and tried to punch him again. Francis ducked out of the way, so Nick kicked him in the shin.

“OW! No kicking!”

“Fine!” Nick shouted, and tackled him to the ground again instead, landing on top of him. Francis, glad he was wearing his leather coat and thick jeans, grabbed his arms and tried to flip him off, but Nick had sat on his hips and let his weight fall dead, thoroughly pinning him to the street.

“Get off me!” Francis demanded, wiggling about, to no avail. “Fat ass!”

“I take it you give in?” Nick asked, leaning in, his breath making Francis uneasy all over again.

“Nick, get off!”

“Maybe I’ll count to ten just to prove that-.”

“I SAID GET OFF ME!” Francis roared, and shoved Nick off, squirming out from his tangled legs and pulling away. Nick landed on his butt, grunting, and Francis sneered. “Christ! I hate it when you sit on me!”

Nick paused, frowning as he tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. “I always sit on you when I win,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “You NEVER complained before when we duked it out all those other times.”

“Well that was before,” Francis grumbled, brushing off his coat, refusing to look at his friend.

“….. Yeah, before you decided that I was a fag who might give you the Gay like a cold or the flu,” Nick muttered, rolling his neck.

“Hey, I NEVER said that,” Francis protested, face snapping towards his partner. “I NEVER-.”

“You never had to,” Nick said, standing up, and wincing. He was getting a little old for this type of conflict resolution, it seemed.

Francis stood up too, eyes blazing. Not because he was necessarily mad. He WAS mad. But there was another emotion that he didn’t think he’d ever feel when it came to his partner; he felt shame. And that emotion needed to be buried, but quick. “Well look man, you don’t exactly hide the fact that you like the cock, okay, and since you DID that-.”

“WE did that,” Nick said, fiercely. “Stop trying to pin this on me and me alone, I was just as drunk as you and we BOTH did it.”

“Fine, whatever!” Francis scoffed, throwing his arms away from his sides. “Since WE did that, what am I supposed to think?”

“My GOD you have a high opinion of yourself!” Nick scoffed, disbelievingly. “You think that just because we had one night of awkward drunken fumbling I’m going to fall in love with you like some starry-eyed sorority girl?”

“Well I’ve caught you checking out my ass before!” Francis insisted. “And you’re always sitting next to me a LITTLE too close-.”

“WOW. ASSHOLE.”

“Am not! You do!”

“Just fucking forget it, okay?” Nick spat, losing his temper.

“Yeah, I’m TRYING,” Francis said, cringing a bit at the thought of what they’d done. “It makes me sick-!”

“I meant THIS!” Nick snarled, practically shaking he was so mad. “Forget today! Forget trying to work it out! If you’re so insecure that a manly and VERY hetero fist fight doesn’t placate you, I don’t know what will!”

Francis crossed his arms. “Placate me?”

“SATISFY YOU.”

“I know what placate means!” Francis protested, though the word hadn’t REALLY been familiar to him. “Do you know what would placate me, Mister Thesaurus?”

“Oh this oughta be rich,” Nick laughed, cruelly.

“What would placate me is if we could go back in time and never pick that little bitch up!” Francis exclaimed. “Because she WRECKED this!” He gestured between the two of them. “She wrecked a perfectly good thing we had going on!”

“First of all, Doc Brown, we have no way to go back in time and ‘fix this’, so wishing we could is just stupid!” Nick sneered, waving his arms. He was surprised that they hadn’t alerted every Infected, Special or not, in the area. Or maybe they had, but their squabbles and shouting was actually scaring them away. That would be kind of funny, though any humor was lost on the gambler at the moment.

“Why do I have to be the old guy?” Francis asked, missing the point.

“SECOND, ALICE or whatever her name was didn’t do the damage that YOU’RE doing!” Nick snarled.

“That I’M doing?!” Francis exclaimed. “What the FUCK-?!”

“Yes what you’re doing!” Nick nodded, bitterly. “You’re acting like what happened was some kind of horrible disgusting thing when it was just a drunken mistake that didn’t mean shit, and it's putting a wedge between us when we're supposed to have each other's backs!”

“And YOU’RE acting like it wasn’t a big fucking deal!” Francis shouted back. “It WAS! It was a HUGE deal! Just because YOU’RE used to fucking anything with two legs (and that one guy who had ONE leg, might I add) doesn’t mean that I’m at ALL okay with it! Because I’m not-!”

“Yeah, you’ve said that already,” Nick stated. “….. There’s a reason I don’t have guy friends, Francis, and even though I THOUGHT that maybe it was different this time, it’s pretty clear that it’s not. So I’ll tell you what. After we’re done here, after Santa Fe is ‘clean’ and we’re allowed to leave, I will put in a request to Morgan to split us up so we can go our separate ways.”

Francis was stunned by the offer. True, when he and Nick found that they were in the same group for training, first saw each other after parting ways in Rayford, they hadn’t gotten along. But things changed, and when Morgan assigned them as partners, both men had been thrilled. They were James Dean and Marlon Brando, for God’s sake. Their partnership was stuff of legend in FBICE, and Francis had just kind of assumed that it was permanent, that nothing would change that. Even when he was at his most disgusted and uncomfortable over what had happened, it hadn’t ever occurred to him that they could simply part ways after New Mexico. And now that Nick had suggested it, he didn’t know what to think. All he could think was how hurt he was that Nick was just going to ditch him.

But, like Nick, instead of showing hurt, Francis just upped the swagger. He shrugged in an exaggerated manner, and put on a vicious leer.

“Hey man, that’s the best suggestion I’ve ever heard come out of your pretty boy mouth!” he crowed. “Let’s do it! I could go for a change!”

Nick blinked a couple times, and then nodded resolutely. “Alright. Cool. As soon as we’re done here, we’re done. New partners, new lives.”

“Good, sounds peachy,” Francis nodded, huffing. “Glad you see things my way.”

Nick was going to throw back a retort, but before he could a sleek, black car drove up beyond the fence. Both men turned to look at it, not expecting anyone out there that day.

“Who’s-?” Francis started, and Nick shrugged.

“No clue,” he replied. When the door to the car opened, he rolled his eyes. For Mark Creevy stepped out of the car, removing his sunglasses to look at the two of them, cold eyes glinting in the December sun.

“Gentlemen,” he said as he walked up to the fence. “Working hard, or hardly working?”

Francis snorted. “Har har,”  he said as he and Nick approached the fence as well. “You caught us on some downtime.”

“Well that’s good, sounds like you two are cleaning up this area pretty well then,” Creevy stated, though he didn’t sound terribly impressed or pleased by it. “Nick.”

“Mark.”

“Been awhile.”

“Yep,” Nick said, watching Creevy’s fingers curl through the links in the fencing. “How’d that promotion go for you?”

Creevy’s eyes narrowed at the former con man, who just smiled back smugly. Francis smirked, knowing that Nick was treading on thin ice. But he also knew that the blood between them was bad enough that it was to be expected.

They had become mortal enemies in Sandy, Utah, when they had been paired up to search through some houses in the suburban wasteland. They’d found a woman and her infected son in the attic of one of them, and instead of following procedure, Creevy had shot the child and then turned the gun on the mother when she had attacked him. Nick had seen the look on the woman’s face when Creevy had shot her son in front of her. Infected or not, it was no doubt horrible for the woman to see that happen to her child. Nick’s small amount of respect for the man had disappeared right then. It had turned into utter disdain when he’d killed the mother too. It wasn’t a big secret between the two agencies that Nick’s testimony at Creevy’s disciplinary hearing had been rather damning. While most men would have had the book thrown at them for killing a civilian (especially when that civilian was a grieving mother), Creevy had managed to worm his way out of any time served or fines accrued. Though he’d lost the promotion he’d been coveting. That was a small victory to Nick, and he had every intention of rubbing salt into that wound.

“….. So I wanted to drive out here to check in,” Creevy said, ignoring the jab. “I’m here to represent CEDA in your final sweep of the area.”

“I was told you weren’t coming until next week,” Nick said, and Francis nodded, brown eyes steely as they put aside their differences against a common headache.

“Well I’m not going out with you until next week,” Creevy said, dark eyes showing some glee at their annoyance. “But I’m in town on other business.”

“Micromanaging someone else?” Francis growled.

“Just visiting, actually,” Creevy said, looking around. “Santa Fe’s a nice town. I could use a vacation before I have to deal with FBICE.”

“Wish we could get one of those,” Nick said, shaking his head.

“And then MY boss is coming out next week to meet with yours,” Creevy continued. “Trying to map out future collaborations.”

“I’m sure,” Nick said. He hadn’t known that Morgan was coming to town, but wasn’t about to let Creevy know that. “So what, you’re just going to observe or some shit? Just watch us kill zombies on our last couple days?”

“And assist when I’m needed,” Creevy replied, nodding stiffly. “It will be the furthest into the Grey Zone that you’ve been on this mission. There’s this pueblo south of the city, apparently it’s a bit infested. We’re supposed to clear it out, go through the buildings-.”

“Blah blah blah, sounds like the same old same old,” Francis said, waving him off. “We can handle it.”

“Yes. All three of us can,” Creevy said, looking a bit more smarmy than normal . “I’m sure it will be just like the good old days in Sandy. Eh, Nick?”

Nick’s eyebrows drew together, and he glared at the other man. “Right,” he said, at a loss for smug retorts. He didn’t like the way Creevy was looking at him. “Where are you staying? I’d like to avoid that area like the goddamned plague.”

“The Loretto,” Creevy said. “I intend to spend my vacation at the spa and ordering room service.  Speaking of housing, I hope you guys have been enjoying your studio apartments and ramen noodles.”

“Ha, shows what YOU know, I drew the long straw so IIII got the one bedroom,” Francis scoffed, and Nick shot him a look.

“Whatever,” Creevy said. “See you both next week. Wear your best Sunday clothes. After all, there is a church involved.”

“Try not to burst into flames while you walk through the door of it,” Nick said, and Creevy just smiled thinly at him before turning around to walk back to his car.

Nick glared after him, and shook his head. “More and more good news,” he muttered, and pushed off the fence. Francis scoffed, and shrugged. “Well perfect. If Morgan is in town, I’ll tell him that we want to be split up. Do you want to go to El Paso? Or should I take that bullet?”

Francis kept staring ahead, and sniffed. “….. It’s up to you, I don’t give a shit.”

Nick looked over at him, and shrugged. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “…. So in a week… We’re done.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Francis agreed, and picked his gun back up. “.... Probably for the best.”

Nick nodded slowly, trying to convince himself that that was the case.

“…. Keep a better eye out this time, okay?” he said, nodding at the faceless infected in the street. “I can’t save your ass every time, you know.”

“Whatever. I’m not keeping an eye on you either, just so you know,” Francis muttered, and turned his back on his friend to continue patrolling. Nick watched after him, and then went on his own patrol.

Though neither man would ever own up to it if confronted with it, both of them kept an extra eye and ear out for the other. Just in case.


	4. You're Breaking My Heart (So Fuck You)

The moment that Merle Morgan got into town, he called his assistant back in Washington to see if he’d missed any important calls. When she told him that both Nick and Francis had called him, multiple times, he sighed, a bad feeling rising in his gut. Once he’d called both of them back, all he could gather was that the two men were mad at each other. When he tried to get more details, garbled and crabby rants that didn’t explain much would greet his ear. So he finally arranged for both of them to come to his hotel room the next day at noon, so they could all talk.

He made sure to have a stocked bar for when they arrived. He had a feeling he was going to need it to dull a headache, aggravation, or both.

He barely had a moment to prepare (and pour himself a drink) before there was a pounding on the hotel room door. He huffed, and stood from the bed, walking to the entrance, and already on the other side he could hear Nick and Francis bickering in hushed, hissing tones. He sighed, and rested his forehead against the wood. This was going to be a long meeting. He almost preferred the idea of meeting with McCarthy multiple times during the week.  He opened the door, and smiled at his two favorite agents.

“James Dean and Marlon Bran-,” he began, but before he could finish both Nick and Francis charged for the door. Morgan jumped back as they stamped into the room, and he closed the door behind them, raising his eyebrows. “I’m going to assume that you guys just want to skip the small talk.”

“I want a new partner,” Francis spat as he threw himself down on the bed, crossing his arms stubbornly.

“Yeah, so do I,” Nick nodded, leaning against the wall and staring at the window, eyes hard. Morgan looked from one man, to the other.

“…. Okay, what is this about?” he asked, skeptically. “What petty issue are you two fighting about now?

“It’s not petty,” Nick muttered.

“And we TRIED beating each other up, but it didn’t work,” Francis stated. “So we want new partners. Like, as soon as we can.”

“Would you two slow down and stop acting like a couple of bratty teenagers?” Morgan scolded, going right for the bar to get himself that beverage. Once he poured himself a drink from the far too small mini bottle, he wrinkled his nose at the glass, and then looked at his two agents again. “Care to tell me what happened?”

Nick shook his head vehemently, and Francis said “No no no no no. Not happening.” He’d told Nick before they left their building that he didn’t want Morgan knowing what had happened. That was ALL he asked of Nick, that Morgan not find out. He didn’t want ANYONE to find out.

“Okay, well if you don’t tell me what happened I can’t gauge how stupid you two are being about this,” Morgan said, sipping his drink. “So I’m just going to have to assume that you’re both overreacting and, like I said, acting like a couple of bratty teenagers.”

“I’m not going to work with him because I don’t trust him with my life,” Nick said, shrugging pointedly and raising his eyebrows. “Simple as that.”

“Oh please, I’ve saved your ass so many times!” Francis barked, pointing at him. “Like, probably a thousand!”

“Oh yes, because that’s a spot on estimation right there,” Nick scoffed, and shook his head.

“Well his estimation may be a bit liberal, but why is it you think that he doesn’t have your back, Nick?” Morgan asked. “He’s always had your back, you two have had each other’s backs since training when the other recruits threw you both some chin music on every occasion they could find.”

“Well this isn’t training, and things change,” Nick replied. Morgan gave him a look, able to tell that there was something simmering below the surface for both men. He had a knack to tell what these two emotionally closed off men were feeling, if only because he was an emotionally closed off man himself. So he knew that Francis was freaked out about something, while Nick was in some kind of bruised pain.

But of course he wouldn’t call them out on it. That would make them both snap shut and probably never say anything on the matter. And Morgan would rather open them up. “Okay, well, if you two want new partners, I can’t really arrange that until after your time out here is done,” he stated, starting with acquiescence. “But I would really like to know why you guys want this change. You don’t have to tell me the details, I probably don’t want to hear the details. But I want it to be something legitimate, not just a spat.”

Francis and Nick kept their stares at anything but each other, and remained quiet. Morgan swirled his drink, thinking that silence was a good sign. “So who wants to go first?” he continued. When neither of the other men answered, he pointed at Francis. “You, Marlon Brando.”

“Why me?”

“Because I fucking said so, that’s why,” Morgan snapped. “What’s your beef?”

Francis huffed, and crossed his arms. “I don’t want to go first,” he groused.

“Well tough shit, you’re going first!” Morgan spat. “Stop being such a baby!”

Francis huffed, and stood up, starting to pace. “Hey man, it’s not like it’s easy to talk about, okay?” he threw back. “Some things happen sometimes, and I don’t, like, feel like talking about it! I just think that the two of us are broken because of things that he did-!”

“WE DID,” Nick corrected, icily.

“-and I don’t feel like having to deal with him anymore because of it!” Francis shrugged. “I don’t know… Maybe he’s right, maybe it WOULD fuck up my ability to have his back! I don’t know! And I kind of don’t want that to be on MY head in case something does happen because of it!”

Morgan nodded, thinking that more details would be helpful, but knew what battles to pick. “So you think that something happened that is going to affect how you two can protect each other.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Francis said, shrugging. “Like, maybe something changed and now we’re not gonna be rough and tumble anymore because of it. Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

“That’s asinine!” Nick snapped. “I’ve ALWAYS had your back and I’ve done that MANY times before!”

“Well maybe I just never thought about it until now!” Francis shouted back. “Maybe I just needed it to open my eyes that I don’t think that you can have my back because you aren’t… Aren’t-!”

“MAN enough?” Nick said, shoving off the wall. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“You haven’t said a LOT of things, Francis, but I’m pretty sure it’s what you’re thinking!” Nick barked, and Morgan held up his hands, drink sloshing in his glass.

“Guys,” he began, but Nick held up his hand.

“No, it’s my turn now, I think,” he said, and strolled up to Francis. “Do you want to know why I’ve decided I want a new partner?”

“Because of what we did-!”

“Nope, wrong answer,” Nick replied, shaking his head coldly. “Thanks for playing, though.”

 “Well fine, Suit, why is it then?” Francis asked.

“It’s because I think you’re stupid,” Nick replied, matter of factly.

“Nuh uh, YOU’RE stupid,” Francis threw back.

“You misunderstand me,” the gambler said, holding up his hands. “I don’t mean that as some dumb juvenile insult, like you’re a dummy or a poophead. I mean I literally think you’re stupid. You’re unintelligent. You are hands down the STUPIDEST person I have ever had to deal with. Ever.”

“…. No I’m not,” Francis said, eyes hard, even though he looked like he was squirming a little, like something was burrowing under his skin and he was trying to hide it.

“Oh you certainly are,” Nick nodded, tilting his head to the side as he looked up at his partner. “You are the only person I know who can’t count to ten in spite of the fact he has the benefit of all his fingers, you’re THAT stupid!”

“I can count to ten!” Francis growled.

“It’s a metaphor, you jackass! And that’s exactly what I mean!” Nick scoffed, smiling almost demonically now.

“I knew that!” Francis insisted, flushing. “I KNEW that, I did! I’m not an idiot or anything like that! We can’t ALL get into Ivy League schools, you know! Not like you went or anything, you have the same education as I do!”

“BEEP. Wrong again!” Nick crowed, shaking his head. “See, I may not have gone to Harvard, or Brown, or USC, but I COULD have because they ALL wanted me. I just didn’t go. YOU, on the other hand, didn’t even GRADUATE high school and would probably be put on a wait list for De-FUCKING-Vry!”

“Whatever! I’m plenty smart!” Francis insisted. “I’m just as good as you are, I’m an FBICE agent just like you, aren’t I?!”

“Please. If the circumstances were different you NEVER would have made it into this bureau!”

“Guys?” Morgan tried, thinking this was starting to get a bit derailed. He had hoped that he could mediate them, but sometimes he forgot that mediating these two was very similar to herding cats.

“What’s that mean?!”

“If you didn’t OWE the government jail time you never would have passed the IQ test to be any kind of Federal agent!” Nick laughed, cruelly. Sure, he'd been blackmailed in the same way Francis had, but he was pretty sure he could pass muster. “Hell, you wouldn’t pass an IQ test to be a federal JANITOR.”

“Nick, you better shut up,” Francis demanded.

“And come to think of it, if the circumstances were REALLY different you never would have made your way out of the Green Flu!” Nick continued, haughtily. “You were just lucky that you had those other people with you, because if they hadn’t shown up I’m fairly convinced you would have gotten your head stuck in a bucket somewhere, easing pickings for the goddamn zombies!”

“Nick, ease up,” Morgan stated, firmly, but Nick was off, and he was relishing every bit of it.

“I can’t count the number of times I’ve have to apologize for your stupidity to people, to try and convince them that you’re a bit ‘touched’ in the head. Though really, it’s not that hard to convince them because you certainly seem to be,” Nick continued.

“Shut up,” Francis repeated, voice low and dangerous.

“And you know something else? I’m sure that when you were STUPID ENOUGH to leave the Keys in search of booze and cigs, and didn’t come back, Louis and what’shername were THRILLED that they didn’t have to keep tabs on you anymore. I bet they were STOKED that you didn’t come back! Because who in their right mind wants to have to take care of a goddamn fucking moron?”

“SHUT UP!” Francis yelled, suddenly lunging at Nick. Nick jumped back, and Morgan was able to catch Francis before he did anything rash, like beat Nick’s face in.  “You fucking asshole nancy boy! You don’t know SHIT about Louis and Zoey! Leave them OUT of this!”

Nick bristled, but charged on. “Well I may not know about them, but me personally? I’m sick of carrying your ass and re-enacting OF MICE AND MEN on an everyday basis! So I’m THRILLED that after this is all over, I’m not going to have to take care of you and make sure you don’t get yourself killed! …..And that I won’t have to worry about the two of us getting drunk and getting all the way to third.”

“Wait, WHAT?” Morgan asked, floored by this sudden tidbit of information, while Francis turned a bright shade of red.

“NICK!” the former biker exclaimed, stomach dropping. “You said-! You promised-!”

“Oh, I promised I wouldn’t tell? I promised I’d keep your dirty little secret just that, a secret? I promised I wouldn’t tell Morgan that I sucked your cock and you loved EVERY MINUTE OF IT?” Nick listed, twisting that knife even more, and raised an eyebrow, finishing off with a not at all sorry “Oops. My bad.”

Francis’ body slumped, though his brown eyes were still filled with rage for his partner. And probably a little pain and embarrassment. While Francis had a talent for inadvertently hitting Nick in his most sensitive neuroses, Nick always knew how to go for the emotional jugular. And this time he’d cut it open and let it spill all over the floor, with little more than a smug smirk and a nonchalant shrug. Francis pulled away from Morgan, and pointed at Nick, almost shaking.

“Fuck. You,” he said, voice drawn and taut. He pulled away, and left the hotel room, not even bothering to slam the door behind him. Nick continued to stare ahead, keeping a stoic glare on his features, and Morgan exhaled, slowly.

“…….. Well, it’s pretty clear to me that you two are right,” he said, quietly, and swigged back the rest of his drink. “You do seem pretty broken.”

“Told ya,” Nick said, shrugged as he swallowed. He slowly sat down on the bed, and leaned back on his elbows. That had taken a lot out of him. He rolled his neck, and eyed the mini bar. “Think I can steal some of that?”

“I’m not totally sure I think you deserve it,” Morgan replied honestly, and Nick closed his eyes for a moment, the disapproving words of Morgan twisting the small pinprick that was sticking in his chest. But his boss pulled out a miniature bottle of Malibu and tossed it to his mentee. Normally Nick would protest getting such a girly drink, but today he just untwisted the cap and began to guzzle. “So you two had a frat boy kind of moment, and that’s what this is about?”

Nick shrugged, and tossed the empty bottle to the floor. “Yeah.”

“....Did it mean anything to either of you?”

“Well it freaked him out, as you can see. To me?…. It was just kind of stupid,” he replied.

“….. Must feel good throwing away a great partnership over something that’s admittedly stupid,” Morgan stated, not trying to hide his disappointment. Nick didn’t say anything to that, and so the older man in the room huffed. “Okay. You guys will have to finish out Santa Fe. It’s just one more week. Then I’ll send him to El Paso with someone else, and I’ll move you somewhere else. No guarantees that it will be anywhere you’ll enjoy-.”

“I don’t enjoy ANY of the places you assholes send us,” Nick spat, teetering towards losing control after what had just happened. He very rarely talked back to Morgan, so both of them were surprised by his sniping.

Morgan gave him a pointed, chastising look, and Nick was expecting a full rebuke for talking back to his boss like that, friends or not. But instead, Morgan just opened a Jack Daniels for himself, and tossed Nick a small bottle of Bacardi.

“You know, when you were out there with him, you really had us ‘assholes’ fooled about that,” he stated, and Nick closed his eyes as he opened the bottle and chugged the rum. “You two always seemed to be having a fine time, the work aside. You were the Golden Boys of FBICE, Nick.  You were my success stories.”

“We’re still your success stories, Morgan, we just don’t have to be a combined success story,” Nick said, tossing the second bottle to the floor.

Morgan shrugged, and wasn’t going to push it. “….. Okay,” he said, giving up. “Golden Boys no more. I get it. I’ll file the paperwork. Don’t blame me if you end up in New Jersey.”

Nick snorted, and stood up, legs a little wobbly from the sudden rush of booze in his system after a day of very little food. ‘That’s all I ask,” he said, and saluted his boss. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Probably not until after your last trip out to the south of Santa Fe,” Morgan said, looking out the window of the hotel.  Nick shrugged, and smiled at him sadly. “…. I’m going to miss you two.”

Nick hesitated in the doorway, and then shrugged. “That makes one of us,” he lied, and left the hotel room.

Figuring Francis had taken the car, he walked back to the apartment building, the wind biting at him and making him feel even more alone than he already felt. He pulled his coat up around his neck, thinking about what he’d said to Francis. While he was hurt by the fact that Francis saw him any differently after their tryst, a reluctant part of him kind of understood it. It freaked him out. And if Nick had learned one thing fighting alongside him against Hunters, Smokers, and Tanks, it was that Francis said ignorant shit when he was freaked. Just as Nick said mean shit when he was angry. Or hurt. Or both. That’s how it always has been, and probably always will be. So while Francis had been in the wrong in treating Nick differently, Nick had been just as wrong in how he ended up handling it.

He got back to their building, and trudged up the steps, ready to just dive into a book, or more likely more alcohol. He ran his hand along the peeling wallpaper in the hallway, and paused as he walked by Francis’ apartment. He crossed his arms, and shuffled his feet, trying to decide what he wanted to do. You should just walk on past, Nick, that’s what you do, he thought, and growled when he instead found himself walking forward, and knocking on the door, hoping to apologize. He crossed his arms again, and told himself he’d wait for ten seconds and then leave. It was frustrating that before the Flu he never had remorse or shame about how he treated people, and now after it he’d met two who could bring out his guilt.

Francis threw the door open, and when he saw it was Nick, his eyes hardened. The gambler opened his mouth for a moment, and then closed it, suddenly at a loss for what to say. He knew he had to say something, but quick, or else Francis would just slam the door in his face.

“…….. Hey,” he said, shifting his weight. “… Look, Francis, I just-.”

“Shut up,” Francis said, and Nick’s mouth snapped shut. “Don’t talk to me. We’re done.”

“ ‘Done’? In what sense?” Nick asked. “In case you don’t know, we still have a week-.”

“Oh, I know that. And I will go to work with you. I will shoot zombies with you. I’ll have your back and hope that you have mine,” Francis explained. “But I’m not talking to you. I’m not going out with you. I’m not going anywhere NEAR you. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.”

“Hey Big Guy, let’s not-,” Nick began, but Francis scoffed, and shook his head.

“I had a rule back before the Green Flu, one that me and all my buddies followed,” he said, voice low. “That rule was never hang out with ass fucking flamers, because they’ll just end up fucking you, one way or the other. Turns out you did it to me in both ways. Pretty fucked up, if you ask me.”

Nick felt like Francis had hit him in the face all over again, though he wasn’t about to show it. So he just shrugged slowly, wishing that they could have just solved this with fisticuffs like Morgan always advocated, and smirked. “…… Yeah, Francis,” he replied, voice bitter. “Pretty fucked up.”

He had to give it to his partner. He’d gotten VERY good at going for that emotional jugular. Must have learned from the best, he thought, and took a couple steps back before turning and walking for his own apartment.

Francis watched after him, and closed the door. He’d wanted to hurt Nick just as badly as Nick had hurt him earlier. And now that it looked like he had done so, he didn’t feel the sense of pride he’d expected. If anything, he felt even worse. He stamped to the fridge to remove a beer. At that moment, he felt like things would just get better if Nick disappeared from his life forever. He closed his eyes, and slammed back his drink, more than willing to give the day up to getting completely and thoroughly black out drunk.


	5. Everybody Scream (Dr. Wolfenstein)

The ride out to the pueblo town wasn’t particularly long, though for the two FBICE agents it felt like it took years. In reality it was really only about a half an hour, but the silence was staggering and all encompassing. Nick stared out the window as Francis drove, and didn’t even say anything when the former biker got a little turned around and they ended up down an abandoned dirt road. Francis had fully expected the other man to make a snide comment or three, so when there was just silence, he told himself he was happy about it. In reality, the trip out felt damned hollow. To both of the men.

The car eventually came upon the town, and Francis slowed it down near the church, where Creevy’s car was parked as well. Nick opened the door, and shivered a little bit. It was especially cold that day, the wind making it feel a bit worse, almost foreboding. He slammed the car door behind him, and walked around to the trunk to remove their various supplies. Francis leaned against the car door, letting Nick take his sweet time, and chewed on his thumbnail. “Pass me a radio?” he asked.

“Yep,” Nick nodded, handing him one of the walky talkies. Francis took it, and turned it on. “Frequency two good?”

“Good by me,” Francis nodded, gruffly. They kept all of their talking limited to work, and even then it was only if it was truly, truly necessary. Francis had gotten word that he was going to indeed be the one going to El Paso with an agent by the name of Harrigan, at his choosing. When Morgan had relayed that information to Nick, the former con man had rolled his eyes. He’d never cared for Harrigan, and had spent many a night bitching about him with Francis, over beers and bar food. So of course Francis was going with him. Spiteful much, Francis? Nick thought. He was still waiting to hear where he was going, and right now all he knew was that he wanted to get the fuck out of New Mexico. Fuck New Mexico.

He clipped his own radio to his belt, and removed an automatic shotgun, his weapon of choice. He slung it across his back, and put his pistol in his leg holster. There was an internal debate about grabbing a second one, just in case, but looking around the town it looked fairly quiet. So instead he opted not to, and reached into his pocket, and removed a peppermint stick. Once he stepped away from the car, Francis reached into the trunk as well, trying to decide if he wanted to go with his tried and true AK or not. He decided on the other automatic shotgun, for reasons he didn’t really understand or know. He just grabbed it, and started strapping as many handguns as he could carry to his frame. His eyes flicked over at Nick, who was staring up at the sky as he chewed on his candy. Francis nearly joshed him about his lack of guns out of habit, but then shut his mouth, still stinging.

Nick kicked the dirt under his shoes, and looked over at Francis, who instantly averted his eyes. Nick sighed, and shoved off the car, ready to start killing Infected. “Where’s that fuck Creevy?” he muttered.

“HEY! CREEVY!” Francis yelled, and Nick stifled a laugh, knowing all too well that his soon to be ex partner never was one for subtlety.

Creevy left the church, a frown on his face. “Think you could be louder? I don’t think that Albuquerque heard you.”

“Well you weren’t out here, what else was I supposed to do?” Francis asked, sneering at the CEDA agent. “In case you forget, no cell phones.”

“You’re just lucky that this place is pretty damn quiet,” Creevy glowered, shaking his head.

“Well then why are we out here?” Nick asked, voice bored as he crossed his arms.

“Because it’s on the list of places to check off,” Creevy replied, impatiently. “It’s your job to clear out places, no matter how quiet they are.”

“Funny how a guy from CEDA is telling us how to do our jobs,” Francis snorted, and Creevy simpered at him.

“Regardless, once the town is swept through, we’ll end at the church,” he continued. “Think you can handle that?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Nick nodded, casting his gaze along the horizon. He raised his gun to shoot a trudging Infected. It fell to the ground, the distance far enough that it was quiet hitting the dirt. “…. Is that good enough for everyone?”

Creevy sighed, and removed a cigarette from his coat pocket. “Just do a quick scan of the pueblo. It’s not a big place, you know. I want to get out of here just as badly as you two do.”

“Whatever,” Francis grumbled, and he and Nick split off to search the town. That was one of the worst parts about being a Z-Man; when the mission neared completion, the time dragged on like syrup. It wasn’t even because of the impending change that they craved, which symbolized one step closer to freedom. It was more because there was very little to do by the end of an assignment in a town. Once the place was sufficiently cleared within the Safe Zone Limits, it got very quiet. Francis didn’t quite understand why they were even bothering with this isolated hamlet in the first place. It didn’t seem significant enough to make it a part of the Safe Zone. But he fully acknowledged that he didn’t understand or care to understand the way that the government did things.

He exhaled, breath catching in the air and floating away. He couldn’t wait to get to Texas. Francis never did like the cold. Even though New Mexico wasn’t as cold as Pennsylvania in winter, it was still uncomfortable. He put on his sunglasses, the sun still glaring in the dead of winter, and he looked over at Creevy. The CEDA agent was pacing along just as Nick and Francis were, as if he belonged. It didn’t sit right with the former biker. By all accounts Creevy hated Nick, so why was he willingly out here with them?

He wasn’t able to dwell on it for too long, as even though the pueblo was quiet, there were still Infected here and there. And he became too distracted with a couple Commons and a Hunter before he could think about it too much.

After an hour, the three men met back up. None of them had had any terribly taxing run ins with zombies, and Nick was more cold than anything else.

“Is this good enough?” he asked, looking around. “I think that Morgan would sign off on this, so how about YOUR boss?”

Creevy looked around, blowing a sharp breath from his mouth as if debating in his head. “You know, I’m fine with this if you’re fine with this,” he said, actually sounding fairly agreeable. “I would just like to sweep the church one last time.”

“Didn’t you already do that?” Nick asked, setting his shotgun in the trunk of the car. He had checked out, wanting to get back to the part of the Grey Zone that was closer to town.

“Yes, but we were gone for an hour, weren’t we,” Creevy responded, as if Nick was a bit dense. “So it’s a good idea to look through it again.”

“Or a big fat waste of time,” Francis countered, shaking his head.

“Regardless, it’s just prudence,” Creevy threw back, voice losing it’s patience. “Believe me, we can do this quickly. Then the two of you can go back to Santa Fe and fuck around like the slacker criminals you are.”

“Hmmm, the massages at the hotel spa aren’t working too well for someone, are they?” Nick smirked, smiling sarcastically.

“Oh believe me, the massages aren’t the problem,” Creevy stated. “Nick, come with me to the bell tower.”

“Hell no, Francis and I will scan the main floor, it’s larger,” Nick said, firmly. He didn’t want to have to make awkward small talk with Creevy, it would be better to patrol in unbearable silence with Francis. No matter how broken his and Francis’ friendship was, he preferred it to the relationship he shared with the sleazy CEDA agent.

“Uh, that’s okay, Nick, if he wants you to go with him I can handle myself,” Francis said, gruffly. He, on the other hand, was getting the better end of the deal, and wanted to keep it that way. Nick looked at him, giving him a vicious glare.

“Francis, really, I think we should-.”

“Nah, I got it,” the ex-biker insisted. Nick snorted, and shook his head. Goddamn traitor, see if I do YOU any favors, he thought bitterly.

“Okay, fine,” he shrugged, stubbornly. “A quick sweep won’t hurt anyone, right?”

“I can’t imagine how it would,” Creevy smiled, a bit knowingly. “So shall we?”

“….. Sure thing, Creevy,” Nick replied, though it was strained and resentful.

Creevy just smiled, and they walked into the church. Francis didn’t look up, feeling Nick’s glare boring through his skull. Whatever, man, he thought, and broke off from the other two.

“Don’t forget the storage rooms in the basement, Francis,” Creevy called, and the ex-biker grabbed one of the wooden pillars, and spun around it with his middle finger flipped right at the CEDA agent. “Always the charmer, that one.”

“You’re telling me,” Nick muttered, and looked up towards the steps towards the bell tower. “Jesus, are there any bats up there?”

“I didn’t notice any,” Creevy said, removing his handgun and giving Nick an amused look. “You fight Infected all day, but you’re afraid of bats?”

“I’m not afraid,” Nick protested, shaking his head as they strolled to the door. “I just hate hairy things flying at my face.”

“There goes your social life,” Creevy smirked, and Nick smirked back, in spite of himself.

“YOU’VE seen CLUELESS too many times,” he said, looking in the cubbyhole under the steps for any sign of Infected. It seemed like a great place to hide, but he found nothing.

“You’re the one who got the reference,” Creevy replied, turning on his flashlight. Nick glanced at him as they closed the door, keeping the back of their trail controlled so they could tell if something tried to sneak up on them. This wasn’t like the other man. He was actually kind of affable. Anyone else might have found it refreshing, as if the CEDA agent had called some sort of truce. But the Z-Man was more wary. More skeptical. “So I heard that you and Francis are splitting off after this.”

“Yeah, so what?” Nick asked, the stairs creaking under their footsteps.

“I’m sure that all of FBICE is mourning the loss of your partnership,” Creevy replied, trying to avoid the decorative pots that were on every stair. “Honestly, I’m shocked. You two seem so symmetrical, I never thought that you’d break up the band.”

“Just call us Fleetwood Mac, I guess,” Nick snorted, wondering why the hell they were even talking about this.

“I’ve never understood the appeal of partners,” Creevy mused, shaking his head. “I’ve had a few. I don’t care for them. The only person I need to watch out for me is me.”

“Uh huh,” Nick shrugged, looking up towards the door that led to the bell room. “Is that a bat?”

“Where? No, I don’t see any bats, just keep climbing,” Creevy answered. “The only thing partners can do is get in your way, and give you an unnecessary attachment to another person. Attachment doesn’t help you. It just hinders you.”

“Uh huh,” Nick repeated, half listening. Though as of late he agreed with that statement. It wasn’t like he’d gotten anything but grief from his partnership with Francis the past week and a half.

“I say it’s better not to trust anyone outside of yourself,” Creevy continued as they got closer to the door, downright babbling at this point. “You know what you should do? Get a massage at the Loretto. You seem like the kind of guy who’d want to pamper himself before leaving, and let me tell you, they have these hot and sexy workers there who are MORE than happy to work ALL of your parts, if you know what I mean.”

“I assume you had to pay them extra,” Nick jabbed, opening the door to the belfry. Creevy didn’t say anything to that as the FBICE agent walked into the room. It smelled of dust, age and indiscernible rot, the rafters covered in cobwebs. Nick wrinkled his nose as he stepped inside. “As tempting as that sounds, I don’t have to pay to get…..” He trailed off as he walked in, the large bell taking up most of the room. For some reason, there was a sudden awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t really know why, not at first, but it quickly registered. It wasn’t just the foul smell, or the sound of the wind shaking the wooden outside, or even of the door closing behind him (though that barely registered) that made his stomach drop. Because along with those things, there was another sound. A deep, weeping coming from the corner, behind the bell. Nick froze, all too familiar with the muffled sobs, though he found the strength to crane his neck around without moving too much.

In the corner, behind the bell, was an emaciated, shuddering, yet terrifying Witch.  Her body shook with eerie cries, and Nick wondered just how he hadn’t heard her while coming up the steps.

“Fuck,” he mouthed, and took a couple slow steps back, fully intending to go back and get his shot gun. Clear my fucking ass, he thought, and reached for the doorknob to leave the room.

But when he pushed on the door, it wouldn’t budge. He turned to it, putting a hand to the wood and pressing against it. And yet, budge it still would not. Breath starting to speed up, he shoved his entire weight against the door, the door giving out of the frame slightly but then knocking right back into place. He shoved again, eyes widening at the realization that the door wasn’t just stubborn or sticking; it was deliberately being held in place.

By Creevy. Creevy, who had sworn it was clear. Creevy, who had talked to him to muffle out the sounds of the Witch. Creevy, who had trapped him.

Nick clawed a hand down the wood. “Creevy, you sick son of a bitch let me OUT,” he hissed, a bit more desperate than he would have liked. But there wasn’t room for bravado when certain doom was huddled in the corner.

But all he heard on the other side of the door was a low chuckle. “I told you you’d be sorry,” Creevy murmured through the wood, harkening back to before the hearing, before the controversy, back when Nick still had gusto and thought that he would be invincible against the CEDA agent. Because what could Creevy do to him?

This, apparently.

Nick shoved against the door again, but gave up in favor of trying to think of something else. His eyes darted around the room as he began to sweat despite the chill to the air, trying to find an alternative way out. He ran a hand through his hair, grabbing his handgun, even if it wasn’t even close to being enough to fighting her should she catch wind of his presence. Better than nothing.

Not really, he thought, grimacing ruefully as he took in a very shaky breath. There was a small window across from her. In theory, if he could act quickly enough, he could climb out of it and hopefully shimmy down the side somehow. Hell, it wasn’t a very FAR drop; maybe he could just jump and get by with a broken leg, or two. There had to be SOMETHING on the side of the building he could use. He was willing to risk it, and was about to time out a dart for the exit.

But before he could, there was a sudden loud smashing noise against the door. The noise made Nick jump, and just as soon as he did, the Witch sprung up, shrieking and clawing at her hair. Nick slammed his back against the door, her red eyes all of a sudden looking right at him, her body twisting and getting ready to spring. All he could do was grab his radio from his belt and scream into it “FRANCIS!!!”, before she lunged at him, claws out and yowls tearing through the bell tower.

Francis jumped at the sudden scream through the radio, instinct grabbing it from his belt. “NICK?!” he exclaimed, just before the worst screams he’d ever heard tore down the steps from the bell tower. It took him a second before he began to run, legs seemingly moving of their own volition even before his mind had told them to. “NICK?! BUDDY?!” As he sprinted, gun cocked, he realized something that sent the worst kind of horror into the pit of his stomach.

The screams weren’t familiar. He’d heard zombies scream, civilians scream, Witches too. Hell, HE’D done his fair share of screaming during the crux of the Flu, as had his companions. But this screaming was novel, completely new to him.

This screaming was coming from Nick.

Francis took the steps three at a time, heart feeling like it was going to bust through his ribs, and he yanked the door to the bell tower open.

He saw the Witch first. She was on her knees, howling and clawing at something, something that Francis didn’t recognize at first. Perhaps his mind wouldn’t allow him to recognize it, and he cocked his shotgun and shoved the barrel against the creature’s temple. He pulled it multiple times, her head practically exploding with the first shot and the others mutilating it beyond recognition. Once her body fell to the floor, blood and gore splattered across the bell, Francis threw his gun to the side and looked down at his partner.

Even though Francis had sprinted, the Witch had done more than enough damage. His shirt was practically gone, and his chest was torn to shreds. You could see his ribs, exposed and nearly snapped by her blows. His blood was slowly spreading across the floor around his torso, his eyes closed and mouth open. He looked deathly pale, and Francis had to blink a couple times to comprehend what he was looking at. When he and his companions, Flu or FBICE, had encountered Witches before, there was always someone there. To minimize the damage. This time, Nick had met her alone, and the damage was done.

“Oh my God, ohmygodohmygod,” Francis jabbered, falling to his knees. His hands immediately went to Nick’s wounds, the hot blood sticking to his palms. “Oh my God, Nick?” He tried to still the bleeding, but there was so much, so much goddamn blood. In desperation he tried shaking him, as if that could somehow bring him back. “Nick, NickNickNick? NICK!!!!!” He pulled the limp man up by his shoulders, and looked for any sign of life. Anything. “Nick, for God’s sake, don’t leave me hanging here, buddy.” He put his hand to the other man’s neck, fingers digging around his skin to find a pulse.

He could have cheered in momentary glee when he felt a faint one against his fingertips. He instead croaked out a panicked cry, and gently set him back down. “We’re okay, you’re okay, man, you’re okay,” he recited, taking off his coat and tying it around Nick’s chest tightly, not sure if it would work as a tourniquet or what but figuring it was worth a try. Once he was done, he lifted Nick off the floor, carrying his unconscious partner out of the belfry and down the steps, adrenaline and the determination to get some help driving him.

 He burst out of the church, and threw the front door to the car open, setting Nick in the seat and racing around to the driver’s side. He jumped in, scrambled for his keys, and started the engine, the tires grinding and squealing in the dirt as he peeled out, away from the church and back towards Santa Fe.

“Nick you need to stay with me, you goddamn asshole, do you hear me?!” Francis demanded, one hand on the wheel and the other trying oh so desperately to keep the pressure on his partner’s chest. It wasn’t like he expected an answer. But he still wanted to say it. He swallowed down every bit of sickness his stomach was feeling at the moment, and concentrated on getting back to town, getting Nick the help he needed.

He practically sped through the fence gate into Santa Fe, only braking at the last minute to swear at the guard and yell gibberish while pointing at Nick. Once he was let back inside the perimeter, he continued speeding, weaving and dodging and no doubt putting everyone’s life in danger. But he couldn’t give a flying fuck at the moment. All he cared about was getting Nick to the hospital.

By the time the beat up car screeched into the ambulance drop off zone, Francis was practically in a dreamlike state. He didn’t really comprehend the doctors taking Nick out of the car and putting him on a gurney, nor did he really hear anything that was being asked of him. He answered as best he could, but almost couldn’t hear himself answering. All he could focus on was following his partner as he was taken into the hospital and down the hallway, and was only pulled from his focused stupor when he was stopped outside a pair of doors they’d taken Nick through. After yelling back and forth with hospital personnel for about ten minutes, and being told that he really couldn’t go any further, he began to comprehend just what was going on. Began to feel all of the emotions he’d so skillfully and necessarily repressed start to bubble up. He shoved away from the doctors, punched a hand sanitizer dispenser (making one of the nurses jump), and walked back down the hallway surprisingly forcefully.

He knew that he needed to go lock up the car, secure the weapons, before he could go wait, wait for what was going to feel like an eternity. The ride out to the pueblo suddenly seemed short compared to what was coming. He would have given anything for the ride out again, given everything to change ANYTHING.

He walked out to the car, grasping for the keys in his pocket and realizing they were still in the ignition. “Fucking dope,” he grumbled, shaking his head. He took a couple shaky steps towards the car, noticing that someone else had closed the doors to it, as he certainly hadn’t. He walked around to the driver’s side, robotic. Zombielike, though he really hated that phrase now, like most people. He opened the door to the junk bucket, planning to go park it in a less obtrusive place. So he leaned into the car, and sat down. He put the keys in the ignition, but had to pause. He took in a couple of sniffs, and gripped at the steering wheel. It smelled like death in that car. He glanced over at the passenger side, and felt himself start to shake even more. Nick’s blood had splattered on the dash, and stained the seat, leaving a cruel and crippling summation of what had just happened.

It was that that pulled the Z-man from his dazed state. Once he saw and smelled all the blood as it sank into and dyed the upholstery, Francis yanked himself back out of the car, and promptly fell to his hands and knees on the pavement, vomiting violently as his entire body wretched and heaved. It wasn’t until he’d finished throwing up that he realized that he was weeping, without sign of stopping. 


	6. Song To The Siren (Ivri Lider Version)

Calling Morgan hadn’t been in the cards at first. By the time Francis forced himself back to the waiting room, he’d been too tense and focused on fear to give their boss a heads up about the situation. It hadn’t even entered his mind. But word travelled fairly quickly that something had happened, as the guard at the gate the Z-Man had sped through called his boss, who called HIS boss, who had a direct line to the FBICE assistant director.

So Morgan arrived roughly an hour and five minutes after Francis had had a panic attack in the parking lot. He didn’t know what to expect, as the information he was given was sparse at best, and bare bones at worst. He didn’t even know which of his boys was hurt, though that became clear once he entered the waiting room. He saw the former biker slumped in a chair, forehead resting in his hand and his foot tapped the floor obsessively. He stared ahead, though when he saw Morgan his brown eyes widened. Oh shit, he thought. Morgan. I didn’t call Morgan.

Morgan walked up slowly, and stood in front of Francis. “…. Are you okay?” was the assistant director’s first question, his voice calm. “Did anything happen to you, are you playing tough guy like some dumb son of a bitch-?”

“No,” Francis replied, shaking his head vehemently. “I’m fine, I didn’t get bit or scratched or anything like that.”

Morgan crossed his arms, mouth tight, and looked at his agent. “…. As long as you aren’t holding out on me, I don’t want you getting an infection or anything-.”

“I’m fine.”

“Because those things carry bacteria like a Petri dish-.”

“Boss, I’m fine!” Francis growled, hating to be doted on when he was much better off than his partner. Morgan nodded, and sat down next to him.

“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked. “I’m still a bit in the dark, I just got a call that one of the Z-Men was being rushed to the hospital. It was kind of lost in the telephone tree who it was. Seeing you, well, cleared that up.”

Francis leaned forward, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Fuck, I should have been the one to call, I didn’t even-.”

“Don’t worry about that, just tell me what happened,” Morgan stated, voice stern. He needed Francis to focus. He wanted to know all of the details. Needed to know how this could have happened. “Start from the beginning. You got to the Pueblo. When did you get there?”

“…. Noonish, I think,” Francis replied, though his mind wasn’t accessing that information at the moment. But he recounted as best he could, trying to go slow, though once he got talking, it was hard to stop. It provided a good distraction from the fact that he still hadn’t heard anything from the doctors who were working on Nick. He didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It could be good because it meant Nick was fighting to stay alive. But it could be bad, because it meant that he wasn’t improving. Assuming improvement was even an option.

Once he’d finished recounted his side of the story, he was shaking again. Morgan kept a stoic expression on his face, staring ahead as if trying to process everything he’d been told. “Where was Creevy when you left the church?” he asked.

Francis looked up from his hands and at his boss. “I… I don’t know, I didn’t see him,” he said. “I just, I wasn’t thinking about him, you know?” he explained, and Morgan nodded, understandingly.

“That’s fine, if you don’t know you don’t know,” he stated. “…. What have the doctors said?”

“Jack fucking shit,” Francis spat, starting to get worked up again. “They haven’t said ANYTHING, no one has come out to tell me what’s going on!” He stood up, starting to pace again. “I mean, if he was dead, they’d tell me, right? They’d come out and let me know, they wouldn’t just NOT tell me-!”

“Jesus Francis, yes, they’d tell you,” Morgan said, rubbing his temples with his fingers. “Sit down, please.”

“Fuck no! I’ve been sitting! I’ve been sitting and waiting and I’m sick of sitting and waiting! I don’t sit and wait!” Francis insisted, as people in the waiting room started to give him looks.

“Believe me, I’m fully aware that you aren’t the most patient person in the world, but right now that’s all you CAN do,” Morgan snapped. “So just sit your ass down, and wait.”

“I hate waiting!”

“I KNOW. But what else are you going to do besides wind yourself up and disturb everyone here?” Morgan chastised, and Francis snarled and threw himself back in the chair. “….. You can’t do anything else, Francis. So just sit.”

“If I keep sitting I’ll keep thinking about it,” the former biker mumbled, and put his face in his hands, trying to shut everything out. “…. He just kept screaming, Morgan, and I couldn’t…. I couldn’t get to him in time….. I should have gone with him. I shouldn’t have let them go alone, Creevy isn’t his partner, I’M his partner.”

“You can’t change the past,” Morgan stated, putting his hand on his back and patting him, brusquely. “So don’t punish yourself for what you could have done differently. Just don’t.”

Francis snorted. He hated it when people told him not to dwell on that which can’t be changed. He was someone who always wanted a black and white answer, a fix, a tangible solution to a problem or bad feeling. He pulled his hands away, and leaned his head against the wall. “So what am I supposed to do if he dies, huh?” he asked.

“… I’m trying not to think about that,” Morgan answered, voice suddenly less sure of itself. “Nick’s tough, Francis.”

“Tough enough to survive a Witch attack?” Francis demanded.

“…. I don’t know. I like to think so,” Morgan shrugged.

“Well you didn’t see him,” Francis scowled.

“…. No, I didn’t,” Morgan agreed, though he did see Francis, saw the blood that covered his clothing like an abstract painting. “But I need to keep telling myself that he will be okay.”

“…. I guess,” Francis acquiesced. He closed his eyes, and took in a shaky breath.

“Do you want to go home and change?” Morgan offered. “I can wait here-.”

“No,” Francis stated, firmly. “I’m waiting here until the end.”

“…. Well, you’re a good partner, Francis,” the assistant director said, sincerely. Francis looked over at him for a moment, and shrugged.

“… I’m not, though,” he protested. Morgan was going to argue, but before he could the former biker shook his head. “If I was a good partner I never would have let that stupid night get in between us. I would have just dealt with the fact he sucked me off, I would have just DEALT with it. But nope, I had to be that macho jerk, you know?”

“You were both jerks.”

“Doesn’t make me any less of an asshole,” Francis snorted. “I’m a BAD. PARTNER.”

“You AREN’T,” Morgan protested, gruffly. “Sure, you’re pig headed, and hot tempered, and you two fight like cats and dogs and always feel a need to one up each other. But neither of you are bad partners, certainly not you.”

“Whatever,” Francis stated, unconvinced.

“… Do you want to know something?” Morgan asked after a few beats of uncomfortable silence.

“No.”

“Well too bad, I’m going to tell you anyway,” Morgan snipped. “I knew that you two were going to be good partners from that first day of training.”

“…. How could you possibly figure that from that first day?” Francis asked, turning to look at him incredulously. “We were HORRIBLE to each other!”  
            

“I remember.”

“Like, we started calling each other names as soon as we saw each other, and I’m pretty sure that he was spitting spitballs at me the entire time,” Francis said, starting to laugh a little bit. “And then I think I threw my boot at his head-.”

“Those are accurate recollections, yes,” Morgan smiled, shaking his head.

“I’m pretty sure that I said I wouldn’t piss on him even if he was on fire!”

“I know what you said to each other!” Morgan laughed, as Francis chuckled too, in spite of himself. “I was there, Francis, and I definitely felt like I was herding cats. Cats that REALLY hated each other.”

“God, he’s such an asshat,” Francis grumbled, bemused smirk still on his face as he examined his hands, distractedly. “How could you possibly think on the first day that we’d get along?”

Morgan was going to answer, but before he could the door to the ORs opened. Francis stood up, holding his breath just like many in the waiting room must have been, and when the doctor strolled over to him and Morgan, he felt his heart start to race all over again.

“Are you here with Agent Nicolas-?” he began, and Francis cut him off by nodding vigorously.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s us, what’s going on?” he demanded, crossing his arms tightly. “Is he okay? What happened in there, can you fix him?”

“I’m Doctor Woijtanowicz, I’m the primary surgeon on the team,” the older man said, and Francis nodded through the introductions, completely apathetic to them. “We’ve been working tirelessly to try-.”

“Blah blah blah, I get it, what’s going on with Nick?” Francis demanded. Woijtanowicz paused, seemingly irritated at being interrupted, but continued.

“He’s been pretty ripped up, I’m sorry to say. His chest is completely torn, a few ribs were broken, the Witch managed to knick his liver… Outside of that, his ribs protected his lungs, his heart. She missed everything else. We’re working on the liver right now, but….”

“But?” Francis asked, hating how vague this guy was being. Couldn’t he just come out and say if Nick was going to be okay or not? “But what? What’s wrong?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Woijtanowicz continued, voice grave. “We’re trying to stabilize him, but he’s had a couple transfusions already and…. Frankly, we’re running out of blood to give him.”

“What do you mean you’re ‘running out of blood’?” Morgan demanded. “This is a hospital for fuck’s sake, you should have access to blood!”

“We do, but our supplies after the Flu dwindled and they haven’t caught back up. We only have so much, we’d have to bring some in and we may not have the time for that.”

“What are you TALKING about?!” Morgan exclaimed. “Well for God’s sake, you have to have SOME!”

“It’s not that simple,” the doctor insisted. “He’s O negative, and we just don’t have-!”

“Wait, no shit?!” Francis suddenly exclaimed, and both Morgan and Woijtanowicz looked at him, surprised. “That fucker never told me that! O negative, that’s me! I’m O negative!”

“Are you sure?” Woijtanowicz asked, skeptical. “You do realize that if you aren’t he could-.”

“Fucking A I’m sure, what do I look like, an idiot?” Francis barked, and began to roll up his sleeve. “You can test me for all I care, but you better take my blood and give it to him! NOW!”

The surgeon knew that there was little time to argue, so he nodded. “Alright, come with me, we’ll have to ask you a number of questions-.”

“Fuck that, I’m fine with that!” Francis growled.

The questions were simple, and Francis was up to snuff. He wasn’t sure if he was lying when he answered ‘no’ to ‘have you ever had sex with another man?’, because it wasn’t like it was SEX sex, right? Besides, that had always seemed like a bullshit question anyway. He lay back in the chair, staring at the ceiling as he felt the needle’s pressure in his arm. At least this pain, as  small as it was, was physical. Physical pain was good, a damn good distraction from the pain inside of him at the moment. Morgan sat in the chair next to him, just keeping a watchful eye on his agent.

“…. You never answered me,” Francis said, glancing over at his boss.

“…. What part?”

“…… What AM I supposed to do if he dies?”

Morgan blinked a few times, and rest his chin in his hand as he looked at the floor, as if searching for the answer there. Francis lolled his head back up towards the ceiling, brown eyes stern. He didn’t know what to expect from his mentor.

“Well, what did you do when your friends died during the Flu?” Morgan asked, tilting his head to the side a little bit.

It was a question that Francis really needed to think about. He wrinkled his nose, and let his eyes fall on the bag of blood as it slowly filled. He immediately thought of Bill, but to him Bill was different. For starters, Bill had died for a purpose. Bill had died to save him, Louis, and Zoey. Bill’s death had meaning, and while it was sad, Francis had understood why the old man had done it. Bill had been ready. Nick wasn’t.

And Bill hadn’t really been a ‘friend’, per se. Survivors kind of rose above that, in his mind. They banded together out of necessity, and got through really grim and gruesome shit together. Like war buddies. You’d take care of each other, part ways, and maybe see each other again from time to time. But that time was always painful to some degree. And he hadn’t been able to have that potential friend time with Bill, or Louis and Zoey. Bill had died, and Francis been taken away by the Government soon after arriving to the Keys, leaving the other two behind. They’d never had the luxury of irresponsible, stupid fun together. Their time had been too short.

So he looked back at Morgan. “…. I, uh…. I didn’t have friends,” he admitted, quietly. “…. Nick’s the only one I got.”

Morgan exhaled softly at that, and looked ahead, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Francis sniffed, trying to seem like it wasn’t a big deal. But Morgan could tell that he was swallowing all of his emotions. “… I didn’t answer your other question either,” he said, carefully.

“Huh?” Francis asked, turning back to him. “What other question?”

“You asked me how I knew that you two were perfect partners on Day One,” the Assistant Director reminded him.

“Oh…. Fine, I’ll bite,” Francis said, snorting a bit. “Why?”

“Easy,” Morgan replied, smiling a little bit. “Whenever you guys traded insults… You were smiling. Enjoying it. And when I saw that, I had a feeling that you two would grow into the best damn FBICE agents the new agency would ever see based SOLELY on your loyalty to one another.”

“Ha. Some loyalty,” Francis muttered. “After what I did-.”

“You went into your partnership telling Nick you wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire,” Morgan interrupted, “and right now you’re giving him your blood… If that isn’t a damn good, loyal, EXCELLENT partner…. There is no such thing as one.”

Hearing those words was surreal to Francis. He felt his throat constrict, and while his initial thought was that it was a reaction to the blood drawing, he suddenly had to swallow down a repeat of the earlier tears. He wasn’t going to cry in front of Morgan, that wasn’t his style. But had he been alone, he might have cried like a baby. Maybe. He furrowed his brow, and exhaled roughly.

“He can’t die,” he stated, as the attending nurse came back into the room.

“How are you holding up?” she asked. “Ooh, it looks like you’re almost done.”

“Take more,” Francis demanded.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” she asked. “Sir, when you draw blood you really are only technically allowed to take-.”

“Take as much as you can without getting your ass fired, okay?” Francis snapped, sitting up and feeling a bit lightheaded because of it. “Aw shit,” he grumbled, and glanced at the food and drink set aside on the end table as his body fell back into the chair. “I’m gonna need a bigger cookie.”

Morgan chuckled and shook his head. “Pig headed and hot tempered,” he muttered.

After eating a handful of cookies and drinking a few cups of juice, Francis was eventually taken back out to the waiting room with Morgan. He felt like he was going to faint, or fall asleep, but he actually kept his complaints to himself. Partially because he figured if he threw a fit, he’d use up energy he was lacking, but also because he was too deep in thought.

Though it felt like a lifetime or two, eventually Dr. Woijtanowicz came back out into the ER waiting room. Francis tried to stand up, but Morgan grabbed him before he could. “You’re going to make yourself pass out, just sit,” he hissed, and Francis pulled his arm away and shot him a glare before Woijtanowicz stopped in front of them.

“So what’s the deal?” Francis asked, remaining in the chair though he was aching to stand. “Did it work? Is he okay? Is he going to be okay?”

Woijtanowicz hesitated, and exhaled. “…. We think we’re on the right track,” he replied. “We repaired his liver, and were able to stop the bleeding across his chest wounds. He’s all stitched up-.”

“Can I see him?” Francis asked.

“He’s not conscious,” Woijtanowicz answered, shaking his head. “There have been some complications that have arisen.”

“What KIND of complications?!” Francis exclaimed, though being so emphatic took the air out of him.

“In some penetrative chest wounds, a complication known as pneumothorax can arise,” Woijtanowicz explained, carefully. “Basically, air collects in the space between the lungs and the chest wall, which makes breathing difficult-.”

“You said his lungs were fine!”

“They weren’t damaged, but pneumothorax can happen outside of lung damage,” the doctor continued. “We gave him an x-ray, and our thoughts were correct…. He lost a lot of oxygen to his brain while we tried to correct it-.”

“No, no that’s bullshit,” Francis said, shaking his head.

“And he’s in a coma at the moment,” Woijtanowicz continued. “…. We have it under control, however. The air has been drained from his chest. We put him on a respirator quickly, so we have…. We’re trying to remain optimistic. Though it’s hard to know the damage until he wakes up.”

“… That’s assuming he does wake up, isn’t it?” Francis asked, shaking his head slowly.

“… Yes, that’s assuming that he wakes up.”

Morgan ran a hand down his face, and stood up, pacing slowly. Francis crossed his arms, and pointed at Woijtanowicz. “I want to see him.”

“I’m not certain that’s a good-.”

“Good idea or NOT, I WANT to see him,” Francis growled.

The doctor knew better than to argue, even if the burly Z-Man in front of him probably couldn’t lift a pen at the moment much less a fist. “Come with me,” he said.

Francis didn’t know what he was expecting. But seeing Nick hooked up to lots of different machines looked different than he’d expected. His friend looked like he was asleep, outside of the tubes and plastic snaking in and out of him. His chest resembled something out of a mummy movie, at least in Francis’ opinion, and his body looked incredibly… frail. Francis wasn’t used to his friend looking frail and vulnerable like this.

He sat down in the chair next to the bed, and crossed his arms at he looked at him. Morgan remained in the doorway, and felt a whoosh of weariness roll through his sytem. Seeing Francis sitting by the bed was both heartwarming and heartbreaking, like he was some kind of puppy waiting for his best friend’s acknowledgment, quietly and dutifully.

“… I’m going to get you a change of clothes, Francis,” Morgan stated, softly.

“….. Whatever,” Francis nodded. Once Morgan left the room, Francis leaned back in the chair. Arms still crossed. Frown still evident. He listened to the continuous beeping and buzzing of the various instruments, and moved his sore arm to the side of the bed.

“…. Listen up, jerkass,” he said, softly. “I gave you almost two pints of blood today, and I’m feeling like I just got thrown off a Tilt a Whirl. My coolest outfit is wrecked. I’m pretty sure that I burned the rubber on the cars tires down to the metal, and I KNOW that I’m going to be dragged out of here kicking and screaming once visiting hours are over. Which is going to be fucking embarrassing, especially since I can barely move. See point A again.

“So you had better fucking well make this worth it,” he spat, snaring Nick’s limp hand in his. “Because this has been one of the worst days of MY life, and I think that YOU, as my friend, owe it to me to salvage it JUST a little bit. Consider it a solid ‘ya owe me’.” He exhaled, and looked over at his lifeless friend, really looked at him.

“Come on, Suit, give me something to look forward to here, okay?” he asked, gulping down the lump again as his voice wavered. “Don’t make me beg ya, man... You know how much I hate begging.” He leaned back in the chair again, still holding Nick’s hand, and closed his eyes, the blood loss finally putting him into a weary and fitful sleep. 


	7. The Ballad of Maxwell Demon

_When Nick’s eyes opened, he was staring at a wooden ceiling. He blinked a couple times, not totally certain where he was, and slowly sat up on his elbows. Looking around his surroundings didn’t help his addled mind; it was a familiar sight, but an impossible one at that. He knew that he’d never forget the swamp in Mississippi, the one that began with a helicopter crash and ended in the antebellum façade of the Deep South. There was no way that he was here now, of all places. It was more than a stone’s throw from Santa Fe, that was for sure._

_He fully sat up, still looking around. It was just as they’d all left it, lanterns casting a glow across the floor, insects buzzing outside the windows. Nick put a hand to his head, trying to figure all this out, when he heard a sound in the doorway._

_“Oh hey, you finally made it.”_

_Nick looked up, the Southern drawl making his heart jump and his stomach knot up, and saw Ellis, HIS Ellis, Overalls, Kiddo, Aylus, whatever you wanted to call him, leaning in the doorway. Bullshifters shirt. Coveralls and cap. Wide grin. Just as Nick remembered him._

_“….. Ah fuck me, I’m dead, aren’t I?” Nick asked, though he smirked as he said it. Ellis chuckled a bit, and shoved off the doorframe._

_“Huh? Oh, I don’t know,” the mechanic said, shrugging as he slowly walked towards him. “I don’t THINK so. I mean, I’M not dead. I don’t think.”_

_Nick chuckled. “Wow, even the Ellis of my mind or my afterlife is kind of slow on the uptake.” Ellis flushed a little, laughing as he scratched the back of his head embarrassedly. “So why and how of all places did I end up here?”_

_“Don’t know that either,” Ellis replied, sitting down across from him on the floor. “But isn’t it kinda cool? Back in the Swamp, you an’ me, bros again!”_

_“Yeah, a swamp filled with mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds and the walking dead outside, really cool,” Nick replied, though he was unable to wipe the sly and loving smile from his face._

_“Well hey, I don’t hear any zombies an’ I don’t see any bugs, so as far as I’m concerned this is okay in my book,” Ellis replied, splaying his legs out and nudging Nick in the ankle with his boot._

_“You know, it’s okay in my book too,” Nick agreed, nudging him back with his own foot. Ellis chuckled, that sound still quite appealing to the older man, and both of them sat on the floor of the house, smiling at each other._

* * *

 

Francis hadn’t been allowed to stay the night at the hospital, no matter how much verbal abuse he threw at the staff, so he found himself arriving the next morning right as visiting hours started. Morgan had promised him that he’d try to get to the bottom of what had happened to Creevy, and try to figure out why the CEDA agent hadn’t been there to cover Nick when it was most important. Francis had a pretty good idea why, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Right now he just wanted to be alone with his partner.

Francis had never been much of a reader, but sitting in the hospital room with a comatose Nick proved to make an academic out of the dyslexic biker. He went to the hospital gift shop and settled on CONGO. Because a book about crazy gorillas had to be okay, right? So he read, and would glance at Nick every once in awhile, and read some more. It was a frustrating existence, but Francis wasn’t going anywhere.

It was at noon that someone other than a hospital staff member walked into the room, and Francis was surprised to see not only Morgan, but Assistant Director of CEDA McCarthy as well. And trailing behind him was Mark Creevy, looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Francis, you remember-,” Morgan began, but before he could finish Francis was up from his spot and grabbing Creevy by his suit lapels. “Francis-!”

“WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU?!” Francis yelled as he knocked the surprised CEDA agent against the wall, pinning him there.

“Get off me!” Creevy snarled, though he was quite obviously shaken and thrown by Francis’ actions.

“Francis, let him go!” Morgan snapped, even if the Z-Man wasn’t about to listen to him.

“Where were you?!” Francis repeated, slamming Creevy against the wall again. “I found him all by himself, bleeding out, and you were supposed to be with him!! So WHERE WERE YOU?!”

“Morgan, get him off my agent or I’m-,” McCarthy began, but Morgan didn’t let him finish and instead forcibly inserted himself between the two men.

“FRANCIS,” he snarled, and Francis finally let Creevy go, realizing he was treading on rather precarious ground with a CEDA higher up to see all of it. He’d probably have to explain himself. “McCarthy, I’m sorry, he’s distraught.”

McCarthy didn’t say anything, merely glaring at the largest man in the room. But in his silence it seemed obvious to the others that he wasn’t going to say anything more on the subject. Everyone could understand grief when it came to their partners.

“Okay, and YOU,” Morgan said, turning to Creevy. “He raises a good point. Where were you? I was under the impression that you and Nick had gone off together.”

“We had,” Creevy said, straightening his coat and tie and glancing at his torn up and unconscious nemesis. “We had gone off together because Francis didn’t want to go with Nick-.”

“MY ASS-.”

“Francis, shut up and let him talk, please,” Morgan said, holding up his hand, and the biker shut his mouth, but continued to glare.

“Well you didn’t! It wasn’t like you actively protested when I told Nick to come with me, did you?” Creevy demanded. Francis felt his face flush, as that was true. Not that he needed any reminders. “I thought not. We went up the steps, but before we went into the room Nick got mad at me for questioning some of his sloppy investigative work. I thought we should look under the stairs, and in all the nooks and crannies.”

“But Nick didn’t?” McCarthy asked, and Creevy shook his head, solemnly.

“No. He got really angry at me for even questioning him, and told me to beat it,” he continued, and Francis snorted. “So I went back down the steps and went to check outside, around the church.”

“I never saw you leave,” Francis snapped, arms crossed.

“Just because you didn’t see me leave doesn’t mean that I didn’t leave, asshole,” Creevy sneered. “You were preoccupied with your own patrols.”

Francis was going to protest, but Morgan held up his hand, knowing that his mentee would probably just say something stupid and possibly get himself in trouble.  “Okay, so you left the church. You really thought it was a good idea to leave him alone like that?”

“Oh he’s a big boy, Morgan, I don’t need to babysit him,” Creevy simpered. “He told me to beat it, I wasn’t going to argue with him.”

“That’s horseshit,” Francis muttered, sitting down in the chair again.

“Excuse me?” Creevy asked.

“You heard me. That’s HORSESHIT,” the Z-Man stated, accusingly. “Nick would never tell ANYONE to beat it if he didn’t know what was ahead of him.”

“Oh please, you two split off from each other all the time on patrols, I’ve heard many stories,” McCarthy huffed, and Francis looked up at him, brown eyes burning.

“Yeah, when we’re outside we do that,” Francis nodded, voice wavering with anger. “Outside, when we can SEE each other, sure. You got me. But in a building? Where walls and stairs and God knows what else can get in our way? Nuh uh. No way.”

“Well that’s what happened!” Creevy insisted. “And it’s not like we can ask HIM what happened, now can we?”

Francis stood up again, about ready to throw Creevy out the window, but Morgan got between them again. “OKAY, enough!” he barked, and turned to Creevy. “You didn’t hear a Witch when you were going up the steps?”

“No.”

“And you’re saying that Nick wanted to go on his own?” Morgan reiterated, finding it a little suspect as well.

“Yeah…. I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Creevy said, shrugging sarcastically. “We aren’t best friends, you know. In case you haven’t heard, we kind of hate each other. I didn’t really want to be around him either. He’s the one that just said it out loud.”

Morgan wasn’t sure that he could believe that… But it was a good point. He looked over at Nick, unconscious and unable to confirm or deny it, and then back at Creevy. “….  Well maybe next time someone says to beat it you should think twice,” he replied, voice a little less firm.

“Morgan!” Francis snapped, incredulous that the other man was buying this.

“Marlon Brando, just….” Morgan trailed off, giving him a look, and Francis snorted, angry that he was being muzzled in this way. But he wasn’t going to question it. He’d learned long ago not to question Morgan.  At least not in front of others. Morgan turned back to McCarthy. “…. Well fine… We’re done here. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“….. So, is he… Is he going to pull through?” Creevy asked, hands slipping into his pockets as a nervous look spread across his features.

“…. They aren’t certain,” Morgan answered. “We’re just going to have to wait and see.”

“Bet you’d be happy if he didn’t,” Francis seethed at the two CEDA agents. While McCarthy visibly bristled at that remark, Creevy just stared at him with his cold dark eyes. Francis picked his book back up, and stuck his nose in it. “Are they done here?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Morgan nodded, and turned to the two agents. “I’ll let you know what happens. I’m not too certain you care, but I’ll let you know regardless.”

McCarthy wasn’t going to argue, and so he nodded at Creevy, and crooked his head towards the door. They walked out together, and Morgan shook his head as he turned back to Francis. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Got a sopapilla for breakfast,” the former biker said, keeping his eyes on the book, stubbornly.

“That sounds a bit meager, Francis.”

“Whatever…. You don’t actually believe that shit Creevy fed you, do you?” Francis asked, the question an indictment if Morgan ever heard one.  

“…. It’s not like we have Nick’s side of the story right now, but as soon as we do-.”

“Because it was SHIT, Morgan, it was SHIT,” Francis snapped, throwing his book on the bedside table. “There is NO WAY Nick would have gone off on his own! NONE.”

“Even though he doesn’t like Creevy?” Morgan asked, crossing his arms. “You think that his temper and grudge wouldn’t have spurred him on to break away from him at his first chance?”

“No, I don’t, and here’s why,” Francis said, leaning forward in his chair, pointedly. “I’M the reckless one. I’m the one that would’ve gone off if I hated the guy I was set up with, because I HATE being around people I hate.”

“Oh I’m fully aware.”

“But Nick isn’t reckless,” Francis continued, steadfastly. “He’s never been reckless, he made a living duping people and conning people, and he was good at it. You can’t be reckless if that’s how you make money! IIII couldn’t do it, but he was a pro. And he was like that in the field too, uh, IS like that in the field. IS." Don't speak in past tense, Francis, he thought to himself. Cuz you haven't given up on him yet. "He wouldn’t do that, I don’t care how much he hates that asshole. He’s too careful for that. So something is REALLY fishy about Creevy’s story.”

Morgan nodded slowly, and glanced back at the door, the CEDA agents still a couple of specters in the room. “…. Well I’m going to go get myself some lunch. We can’t all live on one sopapilla. Do you want to come?”

“Nope,” Francis said, shaking his head as he picked up his book. “I’m good.”

“You know you don’t have to wait vigil by his side this entire time, right?” Morgan asked. “You can come and eat something instead of starving yourself all day.”

“Whatever.”

“… Whatever,” Morgan parroted, and left the room on the hunt for mediocre hospital food. He’d bring something back for his agent. He knew Francis well enough to know that the guy would eat it, whatever it was. He didn’t know what to tell the other man. Nick’s status hadn’t changed, and unless it did, Morgan was fairly certain they were going to be planning a funeral in a few days time.

Francis just kept reading, and glancing over at Nick every once in awhile. Hoping he’d notice movement, or that his eyes would open. Something.

“You ever read this book?” he asked, holding up the paperback to his partner. “It’s pretty cool, actually. Crazy gorillas fucking shit up, I’m a fan. You’d probably think it’s stupid. I’ll let you borrow someday. Deal?”

Nick’s respirator kept sighing, and the machines kept beeping. Francis furrowed his brow, and turned back to the book.

“Yeah, okay, deal,” he answered himself.

* * *

_“So what have you been doing here?” Nick asked, staring up at the ceiling as he lay on the floor of the shanty house. Ellis’ head was next to his, lying in a mirrored image of the Z-Man. “I can’t imagine that there’s much to do in this shithole swamp.”_

_“Oh you know,” Ellis said, shrugging. “Explore mainly. I like explorin’. One time, me an’ Keith, we went explorin’ in this cave, but Keith had lied about what cave we were in, see? He brought us to a completely unmarked cave, and he wanted to, like, discover the cave and map it out all on our own. To be the first ones to do it. Cuz, like I said, it was an uncharted cave, ya know?”_

_“Uh huh….”_

_“But BOY was THAT a mistake! Cuz we got lost in the cave, an’ then these blind monsters started chasin’ us-!”_

_“Whoa whoa whoa, back it up a moment,” Nick snorted. “That wasn’t you, that was that movie THE DESCENT.”_

_“Oh you saw that?” Ellis asked, and Nick could hear the smirk in his voice. “I thought you thought horror movies were dumb.”_

_“Well I got roped into it by the girl I was seeing at the time,” Nick shrugged, snorting. “Stupid movie.”_

_“SCARY movie, more like,” Ellis corrected. “I coulda sworn that that was somethin’ that happened to me an’ Keith though.”_

_“….. No, it’s because this is all in my head and I’m making up Keith stories based on other stories I’ve heard,” Nick replied, a bit morosely as he pieced things together as best he could. “JESUS, I can’t believe I’m making up Keith stories. I hated those damn stories.”_

_“Aw no you didn’t!” Ellis protested, twisting his head awkwardly to look back at him. “I mean, yeah, you said you did, but you liked how I liked them. So don’t try an’ tell me you didn’t like ‘em, okay? I know you better than that.”_

_Nick smirked, and rolled his eyes. “Whatever… So level with me. This IS all in my head, right?” He tilted his head as well, their gazes barely meeting each other as much as they tried._

_“I guess so,” Ellis stated, shrugging._

_“But I’m not dead…. I don’t think.”_

_“I guess not.”_

_“Well let’s assume that, because honestly, I think if I was dead this place would be a lot less, shall we say, cognitive,” Nick said, snorting a bit to himself, as he’d never believed in an afterlife. To him when you died, you were just an all you can eat buffet for various bugs and germs. “So…. Can I just stay here with you?”_

_“Is that what you wanna do?” Ellis asked, rolling over onto his stomach and looking down at Nick. The kid’s blue eyes were like everything else; the same eyes that were burned in hs memory. “I mean, I’d love the company an’ all. I really would. But don’t you have other stuff you hafta take care of?”_

_Nick chuckled up at his former lover, and smugly tweaked at his chin. He liked doing that sort of thing when the others hadn’t been looking at them. Just because it always made Ellis grin, the way he was grinning right now. “Eh…” he murmured. “Nothing too pressing, no.”_

_Ellis beamed, and leaned in, pecking him on the lips. “So you’re stayin’ then?” he asked him, chewing on his lip in anticipation. Nick looked up at him, their eyes locked and their faces upside down to each other, and he reached up to pat the back of the kid’s head._

_“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty good plan for now,” he answered. “Not like I have much else going for me anywhere else.” He pulled Ellis’ lips to his own, kissing him upside down again._

_“You know what that was like?” Ellis suddenly asked, still holding that big silly smile. “That was just like Spiderman!”_

_Nick rolled his eyes. “You’re a geek, Overalls.”_

_“You’re the one who understood what I meant!”_

_“Touché.”_

_This place and these feelings certainly felt real, even if Nick knew they weren’t. This wasn’t really Ellis. He’d lost Ellis back in quarantine. Hell, he’d lost Ellis back in the Milltown when he’d shut him out with a torrent of verbal abuse and mockery. This was just Ellis as he remembered him, or wanted to remember him. But just as he was certain about those facts, he was also certain that he preferred fake Ellis to no Ellis at all. So he just pulled him close, losing himself in a kiss that wasn’t even real._


	8. Pour Some Sugar On Me

The second day that Francis spent in the hospital room with his partner was spent reading another trashy book. He discovered that if he found a book with a gripping and ridiculous plot, it was easier to get through a day of no improvement on Nick’s part. Even if he didn’t retain much of the plot. At least it was a distraction at the time.

On the third day he brought a third book, and settled himself into the chair as he looked over at his friend. “Morning Nick! Man, you are going to have some garbage to read when you wake up,” he chuckled, holding up his brand new copy of THE DAVINCI CODE. “I almost can’t wait to see the look on your face when I give you these three books. Maybe more. One shitty book for every day you’re out, Suit. That’s the deal. If I have to read them, so do you.”

He opened his new book, and was about to start reading, when his favorite nurse, Nurse Maddie, walked into the room. Maddie was Francis’ favorite not only because she was attractive (but quite unavailable, as her wedding band was quite noticeable), but because she was very kind to him and to Nick. Even if Nick wasn’t able to appreciate it.

“Hi Francis,” she said, handing him a pudding cup.

“Aw c’mon, Maddie, you didn’t have to do that,” he said, though he accepted it happily. “Uh, spoon?”

She smirked at him, and removed a wrapped plastic spoon from her pocket. “Here you go,” she said, and turned to Nick. “And how is our favorite patient today?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Francis replied, a little morosely. “Unconscious.”

“I meant besides that,” she chuckled, giving him a sad smile over her shoulder as she checked Nick over. “Nothing’s changed. Sometimes that’s a good thing you know.”

“Or it’s a bad thing,” Francis muttered as he opened his pudding.

“It depends on how you look at it.”

“Heh. You don’t know me very well.”

She chuckled. “No, I suppose not,” she said, and checked Nick’s pupils. “How have you been holding up? You’re here every day, nine to nine.” She looked over at him quickly as she continued her examinations. “It must be boring.”

“Eh, what else am I going to do?” Francis asked, mouth filled with pudding. “Besides, I have garbage books to read. That makes the time go faster. AND the TV up there with all four channels it gets in.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” she said, chuckling.

“… So, uh….. You work here and shit,” Francis said, trying to sound detached as he threw the now empty pudding cup away. “At what point do you guys just kinda… give up?”

“… Well, when a patient goes from comatose to a vegetative state…. That’s when we leave it up to the families,” she answered.

“What if he has no family?” Francis asked.

“I wouldn’t worry about it until it happens,” she replied. “Like I said, nothing has changed.”

“…. So hey, I have another question,” he said, standing up. “What can I do to try and get him to, like, snap out of it? I mean, I’m no doctor or whatever-.”

“Oh no?” she smiled. “I had no idea, I could have sworn you were a Mayo brother.”

“Hey now,” he warned, and she chuckled. “But I hear that sometimes patients will wake up because of the people around them. So what should I be doing?”

“Um… Well, most of those stories are anecdotal and can’t really be considered solutions,” Maddie replied, a little skeptical. “But if you keep talking to him, or maybg singing to him-.”

“Ah haaaa, noooo, I don’t sing,” Francis said, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t want to hear THAT, I sound like a dog getting beaten with a rubber hose.” When she  gave a vaguely horrified look at the simile, he cleared his throat. “I just mean I’m bad at it.”

“Well you don’t have to be Frank Sinatra.”

“Uh, he WISHES I was Frank Sinatra!” Francis scoffed. “…. But music works, you think?”

“There have been cases where people have come out of comas after hearing music,” she said. “But that isn’t a guarantee, Francis.”

“No no, no I didn’t think it was,” he said, though his mind began to turn at the thought of it. Before he could ask her more questions though, Morgan walked into the room.

“Hello Maddie!” Morgan said, politely, and Maddie nodded at him. “How’s our favorite patient?”

“The same,” she replied, amused he used the same words that she did. “No better, and no worse.” Morgan looked over at Francis, and nodded firmly, which in turn made Francis a bit nervous to say the least. A stern look like that meant that Morgan meant business, and that he didn’t necessarily like the business he meant. “Well, I’m all done here. Someone will be back in a few hours to move him about. I’ll be back this afternoon. Have a good morning, gentlemen. Francis, you should consider flexing your voice pipes.”

“Whatever you say, Maddie,” Francis snorted, and waved as she left the room.

“Flexing your voice pipes?” Morgan asked as Francis sat back down in the chair.

“Ehhh, never mind,” Francis replied, shrugging. “So now he’s going to have to add THE DAVINCI CODE to his recovery reading list. I’m thinking that I MIGHT just get a shitty romance novel tomorrow just to spite him.”

“I thought he liked romance novels,” Morgan smirked, crossing his arms.

“No no, he likes Jodi Picoult, and he claims there’s a difference,” Francis stated. “Not that there is, but whatever. So I’m THINKING that I’m going to get something by that Sparks guy-.”

“Hey, before you start making plans for that, we have something we should probably talk about,” Morgan interrupted, grabbing the other chair in the room. “…. We need to prepare ourselves for if he doesn’t wake up to read your books, Marlon Brando.”

“…. Wellll, Maddie said that we shouldn’t worry about that until it happens,” Francis replied, eyes narrowing. “So, I’m going to listen to the MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL and not worry about it. You know….. Until it happens.”

“I’m sure that she was just trying to be nice, she’s a very nice person, but we need to be pragmatic about this,” Morgan tossed back, wishing that Francis wouldn’t make this harder than it already was. But then, it was Francis. Even when he didn’t mean to, he made this kind of thing hard. “Fact of the matter is, if he gets worse, and if it becomes clear that he isn’t going to wake up, we’ll need to make the call.”

“…. Well I’m going to say ‘hell no’ right now, so ta dah! Nothing to worry about,” Francis spat, stubbornly.

“Francis-.”

"Nope! There, I made it easier,” the former biker insisted. “He’s going to wake up, okay? So this isn’t even a conversation we should have! I’m so telling him you wanted to pull the plug as soon as he wakes up!”

“He might not!” Morgan snarled, his mentee’s stubbornness really irking him right now. “And if he doesn’t, we’re going to have to let him go.”

“Fuck you! I’m not letting anyone go!”

“Francis, come on,” Morgan replied, sighing and scratching his head. “You think that I want that to happen? I’m just trying to plan for the worst, as our resident pessimist I’d think that you’d understand that!”

“What I don’t understand is why you’re just giving up on him!” Francis exclaimed, temper flaring brightly.

“I’m NOT giving up on him, Francis, I’m not trying to expect too much of him!” Morgan countered, ever patient even when it was driving him mad. “….. If Nick can’t come back from this, I’m not going to keep him trapped here, trapped inside a shell, just because I WANT him to come back someday. Do you really think that someone like NICK would want that?”

“I think that someone like Nick would want people to believe that he can come back from it instead of planning for his death!”

“Well let me tell you something, Francis, unless YOU have some magic wand or secret plan you aren’t telling me about, I’m going to prepare myself for the worst,” Morgan snarled. “Because if we DO have to pull the plug on him, I’m going to be prepared so I CAN do it!”

Francis stood up from the chair, throwing his paperback book at his boss. “Fuck you, Morgan!” he yelled, and stamped from the room. Morgan leaned back in his chair, and put a hand to his eyes. It was quite clear that Nick had always been the one to rein Francis in at times like these, and when he wasn’t here the other would turn into a mad dog sans muzzle. He didn’t feel like dealing with a mad dog right now, so instead he just picked up the book, and started reading it.

Francis, on the other hand, didn’t get very far before his anger and fear practically paralyzed him. He stood in a place a couple moments, and then looked back towards the room, debating going back. But he didn’t want to just sit and wait for Nick to wake up…. Or not wake up. He couldn’t wait on that anymore. He needed to do something. He needed to feel like he could make the difference in this.

So he huffed, and rushed down the hallway towards the elevators. He had an idea of what to use as a possibly magic wand.

 

* * *

 

_“I gotta say, this place is a lot better when the zombies are gone!” Ellis chirped as he and Nick stared up at the stars through the hole in the roof, a hole that hadn’t been there until it needed to be there.  “I could see myself livin’ here a long time! I mean, you know, as long as the zombies are gone.”_

_Nick smiled at his naked lover, and nodded as he looked up at the stars as well. “Well yeah, as long as the zombies are gone a LOT of places are perfectly habitable.”_

_“Like Savannah!”_

_“No, not like Savannah, you know me, I didn’t LIKE Savannah.”_

_“Aw come on, you just didn’t give it a chance is all,” Ellis stated, rolling onto his side to look at Nick. “All you did was go to the boats an’ hang around outside the Historic District, that hardly counts as Savannah!”_

_“Historic District or not, there are better places,” Nick said._

_“Like this swamp town?” Ellis laughed, and Nick wrinkled his nose at him as he kissed him on the lips quickly._

_“Or wherever,” he said, and let his hand slip down to Ellis’ ass before giving it a firm slap._

_“Hey!” Ellis chuckled, and shoved at his chest playfully before sighing in a content manner. “I missed you… A lot.”_

_“….. Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual,” Nick stated, not really being one to just flat out say what he was feeling. Even in his own hallucinations. “But you know what I missed more?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“Your tight ass.”_

_Ellis slugged him in the shoulder, and Nick just laughed as he rubbed it carefully. “Always the charmer, I see,” the mechanic said, and sat up to start redressing himself._

_“WHO said you were allowed to get dressed?” Nick asked, propping his head in his hand as he watched the younger man._

_“I said,” Ellis answered coyly, and was suddenly fully dressed as if he’d never actually been naked. “YOU don’t hafta. I know you like bein’ naked more than anything else in the whole wide world.”_

_“Untrue,” Nick protested, sitting up fully want watching Ellis walk towards the door of the house. “It gets a little cold without clothes. If I’d tried that in the Rockies I would have frozen my ass off.”_

_“Well this isn’t the Rockies, Nick,” Ellis pointed out, sitting on the tabletop again._

_“No, it’s not, it’s worse,” Nick replied, and Ellis made a face at him. “The West is better than The South, sorry kiddo. Francis and I could get through a night partying or a day of Infected hunting without losing ten pounds due to sweating.”_

_“I’m not sweatin’.”_

_“Well, not anymore,” Nick smirked, and Ellis blushed a little._

_“…. Francis…. He isn’t, like…. You know…. You didn’t replace me with him, did you?” the younger man asked, and Nick shook his head, vehemently._

_“NO,” he answered, voice a bit stern. “No, it’s not… WE’RE not…. We’re just friends, we work together and we hang out because no one else in their right minds would want to hang out with us.”_

_“Aw come on, you’re fun to hang out with. An’ HE seemed really fun too back in Rayford,” Ellis said as Nick stood up, fully clothed without having to even put his clothes on. Being in a dream is SO convenient, he thought sardonically._

_“…. Yeah, he’s fun,” he admitted, sitting on the table next to Ellis. “But no one’s going to replace you…. At least, not in ALL ways.”_

_Ellis smiled, and pulled his knees to his chest, resting his head on them. “But he’s a good friend, right?”_

_“….. I guess he did kind of fill that void, yeah,” Nick admitted. “…. You know me pretty well, Overalls, I don’t really have friends…. You were the first friend I’d had in a long time.”_

_“Yeah, you’re kind’ve a jerk.”_

_“Ouch!”_

_“Well it’s true!” Ellis laughed, and Nick nodded, unable to deny it with a straight face. “…. So do ya miss him?”_

_“Psh, what?” Nick asked, trying to sound absolutely incredulous at that question. “Does that sound like something I’d do?”_

_“No, but you surprise me every once in awhile,” Ellis chuckled, and Nick snorted a little bit. “….. You don’t hafta answer, Nick, I can tell you do.”_

_Nick took the out and didn’t answer, though now that it had been brought up he couldn’t help but think about his partner. All weirdness aside, it was hard to deny that if this was where he was going to be from now on, he was going to miss Francis. And in the same vein, he couldn’t help but worry about him as well.  They had always been fairly protective of each other once they’d set aside their differences, and Nick knew that any other partner that Francis got wasn’t going to ‘get’ him. Hell, it took Nick forever to ‘get’ him. And now that he did, he didn’t believe anyone else really would._

_“….. Wanna look at the stars again?” Ellis asked, and Nick glanced over at him, his silence clearly deafening the small shack they were sharing._

_“Okay,” he nodded, happy to just stare at the made up cosmos._

* * *

Morgan had actually been reading the paperback book while he waited. Usually over the top thrillers weren’t his cup of tea, but he hadn’t brought any biographies with him, and needed to pass the time somehow. He wasn’t sure where Francis had gone, or if he was coming back, but he did know that the other was pissed off. Partially pissed off at him, mostly pissed off at the situation. Morgan chatted with hospital staff that would come in to check on Nick, and then alternate between reading, and praying. When his wife and son and siblings died during the Flu, for awhile he had questioned the existence of God. But given his daughters had survived, and he had survived, he had decided to give prayer the benefit of the doubt. And hell, it couldn’t hurt.

He kept reading the book, but was suddenly yanked from his concentration when Francis suddenly clamored into the room carrying his boom box. “What the hell?” Morgan asked, looking at his agent as if he had sprouted a horn in the middle of his head.

“My apartment came furnished!” Francis said, missing the confusion of the question completely. “How is he? Any changes?”

“Uh, no-.”

“Well that’s what THIS is for,” Francis stated, putting the CD player on the side table. “So I was talking to Nurse Maddie earlier today, and I got to thinking about what she said about music helping coma patients wake up-.”

“Maddie said that?” Morgan asked, eying the other man as he set things up on the CD player. “Because I have a hard time believing-.”

“She did, okay?” Francis snapped, putting his hands on his hips indignantly. “She did, and she told ME that people wake up from comas after listening to music, like all the time.”

“I doubt she said it was all the time-.”

“So I figured that I would go back to his place, and get some of his music he likes so much,” Francis explained. “But his door was locked and I don’t have his key, and I tried breaking in but decided he’d be pissed if he came home to a broken into apartment.”

“Ohhhhhkay-.”

“So instead, I thought that rather than playing music he LOVES, why not play music he HATES?” Francis asked, thinking this was some kind of brilliant plan a genius would have concocted.

“….. Francis, I don’t think-.”

“The way I see it is that I’m more inclined to get up and punch someone in the face if they turn on The Cure or some shit, because I HATE it. And so if I play something of MINE, which HE hates, he’ll wake up and want to kill me.”

Morgan just looked at him with the same dubious expression. Francis snorted, and pointed at him. “Well fuck you, at least I’m DOING something instead of just waiting around for him to die.”

Morgan was going to protest, but before he could, Francis pressed play on the CD player, and clicked it to the song he wanted. He turned it up, and gave Morgan a ‘Watch This’ look. It was then that the familiar opening to one of Nick’s most loathed songs began to play.

Morgan didn’t know the last time he’d heard POUR SOME SUGAR ON ME. It may have been at a strip club he’d gone to with some colleagues, years before. That really had to have been it, as he didn’t think that he’d ever listened to Def Leppard in any way other than ironically. And yet here was Francis, blasting the song, in the hospital room, and staring at a comatose Nick as he vaguely danced along with the song.

 “Love is like a bomb, baby, c’mon get it on,” Francis sang, totally off key, shaking his hips and pumping his fist in the air. “Livin’ like a lover with a radar phone!”

“Sweet fucking Christ,” Morgan muttered. This had to be one of the most misguided things that Francis had ever done. “Francis, this isn’t going to-.”

But Francis held his hand up in Morgan’s face, continuing to sing and then air guitar in the hospital room. He spun around, kicking his foot forward and making a defiant face at his boss.

Maddie rushed into the room, the music audible down the hallway. “What is going on in here?” she asked, and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw just what Francis was doing.

“I wish I could tell you,” Morgan replied. “…. I think he’s finally cracked.”

“You’ll be apologizing, mark my words,” Francis said, and continued to air guitar, winking at Maddie. “See? I took your advice!”

“I, uh… I see that,” she said. “Can you at least turn it down a little bit? Not everything likes Def Leppard as much as you do.”

“Oh I bet you do,” Francis purred, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “I bet you LOVE them.” She held up her left hand, pointing to her wedding band for what may have been the third time with him, and he shrugged, and kept dancing and hopping around the room.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan mouthed to her.

* * *

 

_Nick was about to lean in and kiss Ellis again, when a distant music permeated their swamp paradise. “What the fuck?” he muttered, looking towards the door._

_“What is it?” Ellis asked, looking where Nick was looking, arms draped over his shoulders._

_“…. Is that…. Do I hear DEF LEPPARD?” the older man exclaimed, face twisting into a disapproving glare at the door.  “I hate these guys! Why is THIS playing here?!”_

_Ellis listened, and a goofy grin spread across his face. “Aww, I love this song,” he chuckled. “I used to wash cars to this song, gettin’ all wet and soaped up.”_

_“Yeah, in my dreams you did, though not to this song,” Nick muttered, standing up. That fantasy had always had a Duran Duran soundtrack. He walked to the door, but didn’t dare open it. They hadn’t left the shack once, and he didn’t know what was on the other side. “…… Oh man…… I think I know…. Fuck.”_

_“What’s wrong?” Ellis asked, hopping off the table too and stopping behind his lover. Nick rested his hand against the door, and smirked to himself, shaking his head. “Nick?”_

_“Francis,” he said, chuckling grimly. “That’s gotta be Francis’ doing.”_

_“Huh? What is he doin’?” Ellis asked._

_“….. The dumb greaseball is probably trying to… I don’t know, wake me up? If I’m… if I’m unconscious or something…” Nick said, trailing off as he turned around. “And of COURSE he picks the stupidest song he possibly could! God, big dumbshit.”_

_Ellis smiled back, though it had a hint of sadness. “Wow. The guy must really want you to come back.”_

_“He’s misguided as fuck, but the sentiment is kind of clear,” Nick chuckled, shaking his head and smiling. He couldn’t help the smile; this was just like his best friend. “I remember that one night we went to this pathetic and trashy strip club in Reno, and he practically begged one girl named Mimi to dance to this song. Which she did. Probably because he put a hundred dollar bill in her thong.” He laughed again just thinking about it, and tried to will the song away. But try as he did, it didn’t work. This was definitely from the outside._

_“….. So he misses ya,” Ellis said, and Nick looked at his bright blue eyes, hearing a sadness in his voice._

_“Huh? Oh, I guess,” he shrugged. “But hey, I don’t….. I’m not going anywhere, Overalls.” He raised his voice, as that godforsaken song was getting louder. Not at a very quick rate…. But it was definitely more apparent._

_“… Sure you are,” Ellis said, patting Nick’s arm. “You always were gonna go somewhere, Gamblin’ Man…. I think we both know that.”_

_“…. No, I…. I didn’t get to stay last time, Ellis, so I’m going to stay this time,” Nick replied, firmly._

_Ellis just kept smiling, and carefully reached his hand past Nick. “You can’t stay this time,” he said, and Nick heard the door open behind him, the music getting louder and louder still. “You don’t belong in here when you should be out there. People out there need ya.”_

_“….. But I need you,” Nick said to his lover, even if it was only a dream of his lover. He’d never said it in life. Apparently he could only say it in his head. And that hurt more than he ever thought it could._

_“You know, Nick, you never know what out there will bring,” Ellis said, and put his hands to Nick’s chest, which was starting to sting, inside and out. “I think you should take a chance. At least you got Francis. That’s a good start.”_

_“He isn’t you.”_

_“Naw…. But he’s a good start,” Ellis repeated._

_“To what?” Nick asked, the music sounding like it was right behind him now._

_And Ellis just continued to smile, and pulled him in for a kiss. Nick kissed him back, and didn’t want to pull away. Even though he did. He put his own hands on Ellis’ chest, and looked down at him. “… Ellis, a good start to what?” he repeated._

_And with that last question, Ellis shoved him out the door._

* * *

“Okay, this is so stupid, can we please turn down the stripper music?” Morgan demanded, and Francis scowled at him.

“Hell no! If you can find better music I’d like to see you try!” the biker snapped, as Maddie shook her head. “She SAID that this would work!”

“No, Francis, what I said was….” Maddie began, but she trailed off, distracted by the man in the bed. For his eyes had started to twitch a bit.

“I can find better music in the tape deck in my old El Camino!” Morgan sneered back. “And I had VERY questionable taste when I had that damn thing!”

“Hey, the drummer only has ONE arm, man, that’s damned impressive!” Francis retorted, crossing his arms.

“Turn it off,” Maddie demanded.

“I JUST said-!”

“Francis, turn it off!” she barked, and hearing how harsh her voice was, he did. And it was then that he realized why.

Nick’s eyes were twitching, and his hand was stirring.

“Oh my GOD,” he said, and Maddie left the room quickly, going to find a doctor. Morgan’s eyes widened, not wanting to get his hopes up. But Francis? His hopes were already through the roof.

“Nick? Nick, come on, buddy, wake up,” the Z-Man demanded. He threw himself into the chair, and stared at Nick intently, as if he could will him to open his eyes just through his gaze. “Don’t be a stubborn asshole, wake the FUCK up!”

Morgan stood behind Francis, chewing on his fingernail.

When Nick did open his eyes, he was aware of a few things. The first was the fact that his chest was killing him. The second was that as he cast his gaze around the room, he didn’t know where the fuck he was.

The third was that Francis was mere inches from his face, staring at him with a huge, shit eating grin on his face.

“About time you woke up, you big pussy!” the biker crowed, looking like he was going to leap into the bed with him and give him a huge bear hug. Nick looked at him, and then down at his chest, which was covered in bloodied bandages. He looked back at Francis, and found that it was hard to breathe. It must have been clear that he was two seconds from a panic attack, unable to remember much of anything, because Francis held up his hands. “Hey, Nick, whoa, calm down! So you’re in the hospital. In case you don’t remember, we were on patrol, and a Witch tried to gut you like a fish!”

“… What the FUCK?!” Nick croaked out, starting to weakly thrash about in his bed.

“HA! I fucking TOLD YOU the Def Leppard would do the trick!” Francis shouted at Morgan, pointing a triumphant finger at him while Maddie and a couple doctors ran back into the room to attend to Nick. As his partner flailed and swore in a panicked state, all Francis could do was grin and throw his fists up in the air. “FUCK YEAAAH!!!!”


	9. You're My Best Friend

Nick was in and out of consciousness the rest of the day, and into the next. Whenever he would open his eyes, Francis was there to encourage him. Usually by berating him or telling him a shitty joke. Once Nick was fully awake, for good, the pain really set in. He felt like his chest had been carved into like a Christmas goose, and he wasn’t the type to keep quiet about it.

“Can you PLEASE get them to give me more painkillers?” he bitched to Francis as he flipped channels.

“No can do, my man,” he replied, finally deciding to turn the TV off. “You’re at the fully allotted amount and I’m not going to bitch at them for you.”

“Some partner,” Nick muttered, and leaned back, wincing. “FUCK my life, this is the worst. This is worse than that Tank that clipped me in the side in New Orleans.”

“Psh, you’re lucky you were only CLIPPED,” Francis snorted. “At that damn farm? A Tank THREW me into some machinery.”

“Bullshit.”

“I bullshit you not,” Francis stated, looking at the pudding cup in Nick’s food tray. “…. You gonna eat that?”

Nick snorted, and pushed his uneaten food towards his partner. Francis smiled, opening the wrapped spoon and digging in. “Any news on when I can get out of here?” Nick asked him, and Francis shook his head.

“Nope. I think they’d tell you before me. But I’d settle in. You WERE in a coma, you know,” he pointed out, using the spoon as a gesturing emphasis. “What’s that like, anyway? Is it like being under laughing gas?”

“Excuse me?” Nick asked, incredulous.

“You know! Like weird dreams and shit! Like an LSD trip?” Francis clarified, shoving a mouthful of pudding into his maw, smacking it in a disgusting manner. Nick wrinkled his nose at his bad manners.

“Honestly, Big Guy, I don’t remember shit,” Nick said. “I may have dreamed or whatever, but if I did they didn’t stick with me. That’s all blackness. The last thing I DO remember is yelling into the radio for your help….. And I have a feeling I’ll remember the attack within due time, which sucks. Because I’d rather not.”

Francis nodded slowly, and put the empty container on the tray. “Well if I may ask, since you brought it up… What DID happen up there?”

Nick sighed, and gave Francis a look. “I’ll give you three guesses. Here’s a hint: Creevy totally locked me in there with a Witch.”

Francis’ eyes set ablaze, and he shot up. He’d wondered if that was the case, but hearing it confirmed made him even angrier than he thought it would. “MOTHERFUCKER.”

“Francis, would you sit down please?” Nick asked, putting a hand to his forehead.

“No, FUCK no!” he replied, shaking his head vehemently. “He tried to KILL you!”

“Yeah, well, he didn’t,” Nick replied, not having the energy for this argument. “So whatever. He’s a failure as a government agent AND as a murderer.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Francis demanded, scowling at him. “Nick, take the scumsucker down. Just say the word. We’ll do it together.”

It was Nick’s turn to shake his head. “No,” he replied, firmly.

“NICK-.”

“FRANCIS,” he mimicked. “… Look, I just want to move on and forget about it…. I’m going to recover, we’re going on to the next, we don’t have to deal with him again.”

Francis kept glaring at his partner, and shook his head. “If you aren’t going to do anything, I will…. I’ll show him a little ‘biker justice’ as we called it back in the-.”

“Don’t you FUCKING dare,” Nick spat, pointing at him and groaning as he irritated his wounds. Emphatic voice and movement just wasn’t going to cut it right now. “Ahhh, fuck….. Francis, look… If you try anything, you… you could be the next person to wind up in a hospital bed. Or you could end up in jail if they see it as breaking your agreement with Uncle Sam…. Or, um…. You could really strike out and end up dead….” He rubbed the back of his neck, the IV in his hand protesting being pulled that far, and he swore. “….. And if you died on account of me, I’d probably spit on your grave, so let’s just… Just leave it be.”

Francis glared at his partner, about to rip into him for this decision. But instead he just sat down, arms crossed. “…… I still think you should tell Morgan,” he muttered, sulkily.

Nick smiled softly at him, and shook his head. “Yeah, well, maybe I will,” he said, though both of them knew he wouldn’t. He’d accuse. Creevy would deny. It would end up like Sandy all over again. And he wasn’t interested in taking the brunt of THAT.

“So I heard a rumor,” Nick continued, looking at the wall smugly.

“What kind of rumor?” Francis asked, eyes narrowing. “I might have to pull a Nixon and deny it.”

“I heard from that hot nurse that you were possibly CRYING when I was brought in,” Nick grinned, and Francis rolled his eyes. “CARE TO COMMENT?”

“Well first of all, if you’re talking about Maddie, she’s MARRIED, and NOT the type to budge on that.”

“Damn.”

"And SECOND of all, no, I’m not going to comment on that! I don’t get that shaken up that easily, Nick, so MADDIE is a LIAR!” Francis insisted, and Nick laughed as he crossed his arms. “Or at least an exaggerator……”

“… Okay,” Nick said, letting Francis think he was holding onto some pride. “Well, regardless, she also said that you barely left my side while I was out, and if that’s true… Well, I was surprised.”

“Why?” Francis asked, raising his eyebrows at his friend. “Why would that surprise you?”

“Ehhhhh, because we weren’t on the best terms,” Nick admitted, keeping his eyes off of Francis, lest he start to show some vulnerability. “I was a jerk for awhile there.”

Francis made a face, as he’d hoped that this wouldn’t have come up. “Okay, look Suit, don’t….. I don’t, it’s…. I’M FINE, I’m not mad at you anymore, I don’t feel weird about what happened anymore, at least not totally weird, and…” He paused, making another, just as uncomfortable face. He hated this mushy crap. “And yeah, of course I was going to be here. You’re my partner. Asshat or not.”

Nick smiled slowly, and held out his hand to his friend. Francis took it, and nodded firmly. “And PLEASE do me a favor and DON’T fall in love with me, okay?” he added, which made Nick scowl and yank his hand away.

“What in the ever loving fuck are you talking about?” he asked.

“Just because that one night happened and I’m NOT going to return it.”

“Because I ALWAYS fall in love with my drunken one night stands, Francis, as you know that’s TOTALLY my M.O.,” Nick groused, crossing his arms. He felt like they’d been over this.

“Well I don’t know!” Francis barked, holding up his hands. “I just want to cover ALL my bases because I still like pussy!.... And I…." He began to squirm, strugging to find the words without turning tail and running out of the room. "I don’t want to like….. I don’t know, make you feel like I rejected you because you weren’t good enough for me, because you ARE a pretty cool guy.... or something, stop looking at me, Nick, just stop.” He sank in his chair, turning beet red.

Nick chuckled at that, feeling… actually kind of touched. “You’ll be relieved to hear that even if that WAS something I did, which it ISN’T, you aren’t my type,” he replied, carefully.

Francis looked back at him, and sneered. “Psh, you don’t have a type.”

Nick was going to throw back some kind of insult, but before he could Morgan walked into the room. “How are my BOYS?!” he exclaimed, practically beaming at the sight of the two of them alive, well, and bickering as if nothing had ever happened. “Back to normal, I see!”

“Well as normal as we ever were,” Nick said, still shooting Francis a dirty look. “Hey, can YOU get me more pain killers?”

“Not even remotely, James Dean,” Morgan stated. “So here’s the deal. You’re going to be here for awhile. They want to make sure you’re okay following the coma, and that there are no complications regarding the Sally Ragdoll deal you have going on in your torso area.” He waved his hands at Nick’s chest, gallows humor keeping the mood sort of light at the injured Z-Man’s expense.

“Oh come on,” Nick muttered, shaking his head. The less time he spent in the hospital, the better. “I’m fine.”

“Take a deep breath,” Morgan challenged. “Then lie on your stomach. THEN wave your arms around.”

Nick glared at him, and shook his head. “I can do all those things but I don’t want to.”

“Of course. So once you’re out of the hospital, you’re on a Leave of Absence,” Morgan continued. “I want you to fully heal, and I want you to get some therapy.”

“FUCK THAT,” Nick snapped, and then swore because being that insistent, again, hurt his chest.

“So Francis, YOU are going to go onto El Paso as planned,” Morgan continued, and Francis crossed his arms.

“NOPE,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not, I’m staying RIGHT here with Suit here until he’s all recovered.”

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Francis, god dammit,” he began, but Nick was next to interject.

“I’m not some fucking invalid, Francis,” he growled.

“No, you aren’t but if you are left here by yourself while I’m off in El Goddamn Paso you’re going to start THINKING you’re an invalid, and then you’re going to soften up, probably drink yourself stupid, and not be ready for me when I DO come back to get you because you’re a drama queen,” the former biker said, matter of factly. Nick was a bit shocked by that assessment, if only because it was probably mostly correct. The larger man turned back to their boss. “So what are my options? Can I opt out because of him? Can I claim post traumatic stress syndrome because of what happened to my partner? Is there ANY way that I can just…. wait with him?”

Nick stifled a smile, and raised his eyebrows at Morgan. When Francis made up his mind about something, that was usually that. Both Nick and Morgan knew this.

“….. Fine,” Morgan relented, and Francis cackled and pumped his fist. “There will be a month off for the two of you. UNPAID for you, Francis. You’ll stay here, and then instead of going to El Paso, you’re moving to your next stop early. That’s Laramie, Wyoming, you’re going to be in WYOMING in JANUARY.”

“Wait, what?” Nick asked, but Francis nodded, and pat his arm.

“Deal!” he stated, giving that big ugly mutt grin of his.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go figure out the paperwork for THAT shit show,” Morgan stated. “Nick, rest up. You have a long month ahead of you.”

“No shit,” Nick muttered, but shook Morgan’s hand regardless. Though he wouldn’t say it, he was pretty okay with that arrangement. Because he had come to rely on Francis for entertainment and his sanity.

“Get better, Nick,” Morgan stated, smiling at him kindly. Nick nodded, and their boss left the room.

“ALRIGHT! A month off!” Francis crowed, standing up and shooting finger pistols at his partner. Nick rolled his eyes dramatically. “It really pays to be the teacher’s pet, I know this now.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nick said, shifting in his bed and chuckling to himself, though it hurt to do so. “Ah FUCK…. I feel like ground beef.”

“Well we’re going to get you back to ship shape,” Francis stated, firmly. “We have a whole month to do it. What I’M going to do is stock the bar at my apartment, and we’ll start there.”

“Heh, maybe you should call Alice again,” Nick joked, as the blood drained from Francis’ face. “Dude, I’m kidding.”

“Is THAT your type?” Francis asked.

“NO, that’s not my type,” Nick simpered. “Wise ass.”

“Well what IS your type then?” the larger man asked. “Just so I can get one of them set up for your great return home.”

“Christ, you don’t need to be a one man welcoming committee,” Nick stated.

“… I swear to God, Suit, if I AM your type-.”

“NO,” Nick snapped, thinking this was going to be a long month. “My type is….. lighter hair, not necessarily blonde, but lighter… And there has to be a wave to it too, I like running my hands through wavy hair. And they have to be smaller than me…. And I like blue eyes…..” He trailed off, wondering why it was that Ellis had suddenly come up. He’d actively tried not to think of him these days.

“…. Psh, well jeeze, Nick, I didn’t ask for a goddamn article in Cosmo,” Francis snorted, and Nick glowered at him. “Gay.”

“Oh this is going to be a LOVELY month,” Nick muttered, though that smile he was trying to stifle was blatantly coming through.

* * *

Recovery wasn’t instantaneous. Nick had a couple infections in his chest, suffered a bout of pneumonia, and had nightmares practically every other night the entire month they spent in Santa Fe. By the time they had loaded up their car and trailer hitch, he was ready to leave this godforsaken town and never go back.

The nice thing about Francis though? When the nightmares were at their worst, and constant throughout the nights, Francis would let Nick sleep on his couch. That way, when he heard Nick yelling and crying out in his sleep, he could wake him up.

This was usually by dumping water on Nick’s head. Because really, how else was the former biker going to do it? This would usually lead to Nick leaping off the couch and tackling his partner to the ground, which would lead to fisticuffs, which would wear both men out so much that neither would have problems getting back to sleep. It was a flawed system, no doubt. But the important thing was that it worked. And when they DID appear, if Nick allowed it, Francis was there. Water in tow. And an ear to listen with as well, after the fight on the floor was over.

When it was time to head off to Laramie, both men were perfectly relieved to leave Santa Fe behind. Bad memories and stagnancy was all it could provide now, and even the thought of vast open spaces and one of the most famous spots for a hate crime to ever occur in U.S. history didn’t sway either man.

Francis was packing up the last of the crap in the trailer they brought to every stop, and looked towards the apartment building. “SUUUUUUIIIIT!” he called, knowing that Nick could hear him through his open window.

“WHAT?” Nick called back.

“Hurry up, man, if we want to be in Wyoming before dark we gotta MOVE!”

Nick rolled his eyes a little bit, and went over his studio one last time. Everything was packed. Everything was clean. All that was left of his was a suitcase that was by the door. He wouldn’t miss this place. He didn’t miss any place he’d left behind. He ran his hand down his chest, absentmindedly, and thought that this time he’d be bringing more than a souvenir shot glass with him. That was going to be hard to deal with.

“SUUUUUIII-!”

“I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME!” Nick shouted out the window, and slammed it shut. “God DAMN.”

He closed the door behind him, leaving his keys behind, and lugged his last bag down the stairs. Lifting heavy things still made him a bit uncomfortable, his wounds mostly healed but still irritable. The stitches were out, the scars were ugly, the angst was palpable. And Francis wasn’t going to let him vocalize any of it. So he would angst on his own, but when it had nothing to feed on (aka, pity from others), it would slowly dissipate.

Nick carried his bag to the car, and nodded at his partner. “Is that all we need to do?” he asked. “Your apartment clean?”

“Clean enough,” the larger man replied, taking the bag and tossing it in the backseat.  “And hey, it’s not like I have a deposit coming back to me, so I didn’t do a GREAT job.”

“Whatever,” Nick shrugged. “Okay. So it’s, what, ten hours to Laramie?”

“With the roads the way they are, yes,” Francis replied. “I have all the music we need in the front. AC/DC, The Crue, Van Halen-.”

“I might kill myself.”

“Oh stop your bitching, we haven’t even hit the road yet,” Francis groused. “AND we need to stop for beef jerky before we leave and stock up. It’s not a road trip without beef jerky!”

“So you’ve said numerous times,” Nick chuckled. He looked back up at their apartment building, and shook his head. “So long, stinkhole.”

“… You sleep okay last night?” Francis asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Nick lied. He’d had nightmares again, but hadn’t wandered over to Francis’ apartment in a stubborn, matter of fact sort of way. He’d just grinned and beared them on his own.  

“Well, if that changes, let me know,” Francis muttered gruffly. “OR, if you ever want to go out and talk to someone who actually KNOWS his shit-.”

“Tell Morgan to stop pressuring you to pressure me.”

“What? NOT EVEN,” Francis protested, though he knew Nick could see right through it. “Morgan didn’t-!”

“I’m fine,” Nick stated, climbing into the passenger side. “Okay?”

“…. Okay,” Francis stated. “Ah, here’s the list of the next places we’re going to AFTER Laramie. It’s been updated.”

“… He just added one place after St. Louis, and it doesn’t even say WHERE it is,” Nick said, snorting as he read the scrawled writing without bothering to put on his obnoxious reading glasses. “All it says is North Carolina. WITH A QUESTION MARK, I might add!”

“Ya think I didn’t read it? I READ it, Nick,” Francis huffed, starting the engine.

“I hate the South.”

“SOMETHING we can agree on.”

“Austin is bad enough, I thought we were lucky when we missed out on El Paso-.”

“Well because we missed out on El Paso, we’re going to North Carolina,” Francis explained, putting on his sunglasses even though it wasn’t terribly sunny outside. It just looked cool. “He really wants to send us down south.”

“Well that’s going to be a shit show if I ever saw one,” Nick muttered. “Well come on, let’s get going, shall we?”

“Agreed,” Francis said, and hit the CD player. “But I have something of a surprise for you.”

“Uh oh,” Nick muttered. “Don’t tell me you found some skeevy topless bar or sex toy shop on the way up-.”

“No no no, but if I see any signs for that kinda thing we’re taking a break,” Francis grinned. “I know you always bitch about my music, and that you don’t really have any CDs or nothin’, so…. I kind of made a CD mix that we can BOTH enjoy. I call it ‘Francis And Nick’s Road Trip North: Music and MAYHEM’.”

“….. Yeah?” Nick asked, smiling a little. Francis knew how important music was to him, so this was actually a very touching gesture. As if Francis hadn’t done enough the past month. All of it gruff and masculine enough to not seem ‘wussy’, as the biker so eloquently referred to it. “That’s downright decent of you, Francis. You’re turning into a fully functional and well rounded guy.” He smiled sardonically.

“Yeah, well, it’s a good start,” Francis replied, fumbling with the tracks.

“….. Huh?” Nick asked, the phrase standing out to him, though he wasn’t terribly sure why. He turned a little bit as Francis slowly began to back out of the parking lot, minding the trailer in the back.

“Huh?” Francis repeated back, and glanced at Nick as he tried to concentrate. “What did I say?”

“…. Nothing,” Nick replied. He wasn’t sure why that phrase had captured his attention, in that context.

The first song began to play, after the radio had a hard time booting it up, and Nick smiled when it was Queen. Specifically, ‘You’re My Best Friend’. Leave it to Francis to put that at the beginning of ‘Nick’s’ mix. Actions spoke louder than words with the biker, in ALL cases, and this meant a lot to Nick. And it surprised the gambler that it meant so much. Making the CD may have been a good start to making Francis a better-rounded person, but dealing with and understanding and enjoying Francis? That was Nick’s good start to the same end.

Whatever THAT meant. He wasn’t sure where that came from…. So he just smirked, and pat Francis on the shoulder.

“I’m trying to concentrate on getting out of the parking lot, don’t touch me,” Francis spat, and Nick chuckled, pulling his hand away.

As Freddie Mercury said the words neither of them would ever say, Nick and Francis drove up the road towards the north, desert about to be replaced by mountains. Yes, they argued about stopping for beef jerky, and Nick wasn’t the best navigator, and Francis HAD put Def Leppard on the mix (though he claimed that since it was a cover of the Badfinger song ‘No Matter What’ it didn’t REALLY count). But over all, the first song of the mix said it all. And though neither would admit it (truly, they didn’t admit much to each other), they were relieved and pleased that they could actually say that about someone else.

THE END


End file.
